THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   .    BOSTON  •    CHICAGO 
DALLAS   •    SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •   BOMBAY  -   CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


THE  GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 


BY 
RACHEL   CAPEN    SCHAUFFLER 


|£0rft 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1912 

Att  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  igia, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  May,  1913.     Reprinted 
June,  twice,  August,  1912. 


J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I. 

II. 

THE  BROWN-PAPER  MISSIVE 

7 

III. 

DELIVERANCE  ON  A  BLACK  HORSE    . 

12 

IV. 

A  COWARD  AND  HIS  MONEY 

.         17 

V. 

THE  LAWRENCE  HOUSE      . 

.         23 

VI. 

THE  INTRODUCTION     .... 

.      3° 

VII. 

THANKSGIVING  DINNER       .        . 

VIII. 

EXPLANATIONS  GIVEN 

.      51 

IX. 

A  Box  OF  PERFECTOS 

.      59 

X. 

6? 

XI. 

76 

XII. 

THE  STATION  MEETING 

.        .        .      84 

XIII. 

WHILE  THEY  WERE  YET  SPEAKING    . 

•      93 

XIV. 

THEIR  IDEA  OF  FUN  .... 

.      100 

XV. 

.     108 

XVI. 

THORLEY'S  DIGGINGS          .        .        . 

.     114 

XVII. 

THE  BEST  PLACE  IN  ALL  PERSIA     . 

.     123 

XVIII. 

A  DINNER  WITHOUT  DESSERT    . 

.     129 

XIX. 

DIPLOMACY  .        .        . 

.     140 

XX. 

WAY  FOR  THE  BLACK  SAIB 

.     147 

XXI. 

THE  TREE  

•     153 

XXII. 

AND  STRIFE  THEREWITH    . 

.     1  60 

XXIII. 

Miss  ODDFELLOW'S  INSPIRATION 

.     168 

XXIV. 

MAKING  MELODY        .... 

•     174 

XXV. 

AN  EXTRAORDINARY  EVENING   . 

.     181 

XXVI. 

ANOTHER  LETTER  HOME   . 

.     188 

XXVII. 

THORLEY  SURPRISES  HIS  FATHER 

.     194 

vii 

Vlll 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXVIII.  POLITENESS  DEFERRED  . 

XXIX.  Miss  STUART  DISPOSES  . 

XXX.  AMONG  THE  PROPHETS  . 

XXXI.  EXPLANATIONS  ASKED   . 

XXXII.  THE  HILL  OF  DIFFICULTY     . 

XXXIII.  BLOW  ON  BLOW      .... 

XXXIV.  THAT  BITTER  DAY 

XXXV.  AFTERWARD 

XXXVI.  OUR  WORK  AGAIN 

XXXVII.  REVELATIONS 

XXXVIII.  THE  LETTER  AND  MRS.  PRESCOTT 

XXXIX.  THE  CASTING  VOTE 

XL.  JEAN  STUART  JOINS  THE  FUN 

XLI.  WOMAN  TO  WOMAN 

XLII.  ALL  THE  DIFFERENCE    . 

XLIII.  JEAN  is  READY       .... 


PAGE 
203 

2O9 
215 
223 
232 
241 
249 

253 
258 
265 
272 
283 
296 
303 


THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 


THE  GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 


CHAPTER   I 

ONE    AGAINST   PERSIA 

JEAN  STUART,  of  New  York  and  Bar  Harbor,  stood  in  the 
doorway  of  the  guest-house  at  Kazu,  talking  to  her  Moslem 
courier.  It  was  before  the  dawn  of  a  November  day ;  and 
the  early  morning  in  northwestern  Persia  is  neither  lighter 
nor  warmer  than  in  New  York  City.  Besides,  it  was  snow- 
ing. 

Jean  Stuart  was  eager  to  be  off.  There  was  only  a  short 
day's  journey  between  her  and  Muramna.  She  was  tired 
of  being  alone  in  Persia,  with  but  one  person  to  whom  she 
could  speak,  and  he  a  Persian  with  an  oily  voice  and  disgust- 
ing hair  which  was  hidden  only  in  part  by  an  unpleasant 
green  turban.  This  Hadji  Husain,  however,  was  a  man  of 
such  cleverness  that  Jean  had  never  really  hated  him  until 
this  moment.  Now  he  was  refusing  to  allow  her  caravan  to 
start  on  the  journey  to  Muramna.  The  reason  he  gave 
was  the  snow.  Jean  had  told  him  that  it  made  no  difference 
to  her.  He  said  they  were  likely  to  get  lost.  She  replied  :  — 

"  That's  nonsense.  All  you  have  to  do  is  get  a  horse 
or  a  mule  whose  home  is  in  Muramna."  Then  she  laughed 
at  him  in  a  way  she  had  already  found  efficacious.  "  The 
trouble  is  you're  afraid  to  get  wet." 

She  was  not  answered  as  usual  by  his  oily  smile.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  with  the  palms  of  his  large  hands 
spread  toward  her ;  and  his  eyes  were  half  shut  as  he  an- 
swered sneeringly,  "  Mashallah  !  " 

A  crowd  had  gathered  around  the  door  of  the  guest-house, 


2  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

such  a  crowd  as  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night  springs  up 
from  the  ground  when  a  foreigner  shows  his  pale  face  and 
strange  clothes  in  an  Oriental  country.  There  were  old 
men  with  streaming  blind  eyes,  women  with  veils  that 
could  not  hide  the  consuming  curiosity  of  their  vacant 
faces,  little  children  from  whose  condition  the  gaze  of  any 
motherly  person  instinctively  turned  aside,  only,  of  course, 
to  return  with  a  pity  that  cried  aloud  for  something  to  be 
done.  Jean  Stuart,  who  thought  herself  more  or  less  a 
lover  of  humanity,  would  have  given  half  her  fortune  for 
the  power  to  send  that  crowd  away.  They  pressed  up  close 
around  her ;  they  felt  of  her  clothes ;  they  peered  into  her 
face ;  one  dirty  talon  of  a  finger  almost  fastened  itself  into 
her  strangely  bright  hair. 

"Ugh,"  cried  Jean,  shrinking  back  into  the  doorway  and 
speaking  with  an  appeal  in  her  voice  that  she  had  never 
before  used  to  the  Hadji.  " Can't  you  send  them  away?" 

The  Hadji  turned  his  back  and  beckoned  to  the  landlord 
of  the  guest-house.  Then  the  two  men  deliberately  walked 
away  for  a  parley. 

The  crowd  pressed  closer  around  Jean  Stuart.  Jean,  al- 
most frightened,  felt  for  her  revolver,  and  remembering 
that  she  had  left  it  under  her  pillow,  went  hastily  back  into 
the  room.  The  curtain  that  had  formed  two  walls  of  her 
sleeping-chamber  was  still  in  its  place;  behind  it  on  the 
mud  platform  raised  about  six  inches  from  the  mud  floor, 
still  lay  her  mattress  and  her  fur-lined  sleeping-bag.  She 
lost  no  time  in  feeling  under  the  pillow ;  and  it  was  with  a 
gasp  of  relief  that  she  picked  up  the  little  revolver,  appar- 
ently untampered  with.  She  was  going  to  make  a  more 
thorough  examination  when  behind  her  she  heard  a  voice 
saying,  in  the  rich  tones  of  a  calm  old  man, 

"Salaam  aleikum,  Khanum." 

She  looked  up;  and  there  was  a  patriarch  whom  she 
had  noticed  in  the  crowd  because  of  his  superior  cleanliness. 


ONE   AGAINST   PERSIA  3 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  go  Muramna." 

The  words  brought  back  the  color  to  the  cheeks  of  Jean 
Stuart. 

"Oh  !"  she  cried,  "you  know  English?" 

"  Fwbet,"  answered  the  old  man,  with  a  placid  smile  that 
lit  up  the  kindliness  of  his  eyes. 

"Oh,"  cried  the  aristocratic  Miss  Stuart;  and  she  took 
his  wrinkled  hand  and  wrung  it  before  she  would  let  it  go. 

"Better  make  hurry,"  insisted  the  patriarch.  "I  take 
letter ;  no  time  for  talk." 

"You  are  right,"  answered  Jean,  already  burrowing 
among  her  possessions  for  the  pencil  which  is  so  elusive  to 
the  properly  constituted  female.  "You  don't  know  Mr. 
Lawrence?"  she  went  on. 

The  old  man's  face  broke  into  a  wreathing  smile. 

"I  not  know  Mr.  Lawrence?  I  not  know  Dan  Saib? 
In  these  old  arms  I  held  him  a  baby.  Mirza  Lawrence,  his 
father,  I  know  all  time." 

Jean,  finding  no  paper,  had  torn  off  the  side  of  a  paste- 
board box  and  was  writing  feverishly.  There  was  a  sound 
of  men  removing  their  shoes  at  the  door ;  and  she  knew  the 
Hadji  was  returning. 

Hastily  she  pressed  the  missive  into  the  old  man's 
hand. 

"In  God's  name  be  quick,"  she  murmured. 

"For  Jesus'  sake,"  he  whispered  reverently. 

Then  his  voice  changed  to  a  whine  and  he  was  begging 
alms  of  her. 

The  Hadji,  who  had  just  entered  the  room,  leaped  across 
and  struck  the  old  man  a  blow  that  nearly  knocked  him 
down. 

Jean  pointed  her  revolver  at  the  cruel  face.  "Do  that 
again,"  she  cried,  "and  I  won't  hesitate  to  fire." 

With  a  hideous  leer  he  answered  cringingly,  "Just  as 


4  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Madam  says.  I  thought  he  trouble  you.  We  start  now  if 
you  wish ;  snow  stop  by  and  by." 

"How  many  hours'  journey  is  it  to  Muramna?"  Jean 
demanded. 

"Four  —  five;  in  snow,  perhaps  a  little  more;  six  — 
seven,  not  longer  with  our  beautiful  steeds." 

"Have  you  done  what  I  told  you  for  Lord  Chesterton?  " 

"Oh  !  he  so  comfortable  !  That  horse,  he  love  me  just 
like  my  own  brother." 

"I  will  go  and  see  him,"  answered  Jean,  with  no  hope- 
fulness. 

She  found  her  horse  in  a  bad  condition,  though,  because 
of  a  stone  cut  on  his  knee,  she  herself  had  cared  for  him  the 
night  before.  He  had  been  crowded  out  of  his  good  place 
in  the  stable  that  was  directly  under  the  guest  room  of  the 
khan.  The  bandages  over  his  sore  leg  had  been  kicked  off ; 
and  he  was  shivering  with  pain  and  cold. 

Much  work  had  been  done,  and  the  morning  was  well 
advanced  before  Jean  Stuart  was  induced  by  the  now  urgent 
and  obsequious  Hadji  to  mount  Lord  Chesterton  and  turn 
her  face,  as  she  thought,  toward  the  city  of  Muramna.  Her 
caravan  was  not  a  large  one ;  it  consisted  of  herself,  Hadji 
Husain  the  courier,  and  six  muleteers  who  conveyed  on  their 
tired  animals  her  personal  baggage  and  the  camping  outfit 
she  had  used  on  her  way  through  Russia. 

Jean,  supposing  that  the  city  of  Muramna  lay  on  a  plain, 
was  surprised  to  find  that  the  road  they  were  taking  soon  led 
them  up  into  the  foot-hills  of  a  mountain  range,  which 
loomed  up  very  high  and  bleak  directly  in  front  of  them. 
She  called  the  Hadji  to  her  and  began  to  ask  questions  which 
he  answered  suavely  in  an  interesting  way,  full  of  circum- 
stance and  Oriental  color.  In  spite  of  her  dislike  of  him, 
when  she  could  get  him  to  talk  in  this  vein,  she  had  to  own 
that  he  was  almost  fascinating. 


ONE   AGAINST   PERSIA  5 

The  time  passed  quickly,  although  they  travelled  with 
deliberation  on  account  of  Lord  Chesterton's  knee.  The 
Hadji  became  more  and  more  interested  hi  his  own  remarks. 
He  began  to  be  less  discreet  in  his  use  of  language.  At  last 
he  ventured  on  an  expression  so  disgusting  that  Jean  quickly 
rebuked  him.  The  man  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

At  the  first  sound  of  this  ribaldry,  anger  took  possession 
of  Jean  Stuart.  She  turned  in  the  saddle  and  with  a  gesture 
of  her  whip-hand  commanded  him  to  be  silent.  They  were 
passing  a  little  defile  among  steep  rocks  that  opened  to  the 
right  from  their  upward  path.  The  Hadji  with  a  sudden 
movement  seized  Lord  Chesterton  by  the  bridle  and  giving 
his  own  horse  the  spur,  swept  Jean  Stuart  into  the  defile. 
At  a  few  words  of  Turkish  from  their  master,  the  muleteers 
with  their  mules  closed  up  the  opening  of  the  defile. 

Meanwhile,  Jean  Stuart  was  wishing  she  could  be  as  ob- 
livious of  the  Hadji's  English  as  of  his  Turkish.  There  is 
no  need,  luckily,  to  write  down  what  he  said.  It  is  enough 
to  know  that  in  her  dreams,  one  pure-minded  woman  was 
compelled  to  hear  those  words  at  intervals  almost  through- 
out her  after-life.  She  would  have  given  anything  if  it  had 
been  safe  to  cover  her  ears ;  instead  she  grasped  her  whip  and 
made  sure  of  her  revolver ;  for  there  was  a  menace  hi  the 
man's  eyes  that  would  not  be  contented  long  with  saying 
things. 

Her  silence,  she  perceived,  was  goading  him  to  the  danger 
point ;  yet  she  could  not  have  spoken  to  save  her  life.  Pres- 
ently his  hand  reached  out  and  rested  on  her  foot;  for  he 
had  dismounted  and  was  staring  up  at  her  with  his  horrible 
yellow  eyes.  The  time  had  come.  She  presented  her  re- 
volver at  his  right  shoulder,  intending  to  shoot  him  through 
the  lung,  but  not  to  kill  him.  Her  hand  was  on  the  trigger ; 
and  he,  motionless,  was  still  holding  her  foot,  when  she 
found  her  voice. 

"  You  know  I  won't  hesitate  to  kill  you,  "  she  said.     "You 


6  THE   GOODLY    FELLOWSHIP 

had  better  come  to  terms.  If  you  land  me  safe  in  Muramna 
to-night,  I  give  you  my  check  for  ten  thousand  dollars,  and 
my  word  that  it  shall  be  cashed." 

"I  will  have  the  ten  thousand  dollars,"  he  answered, 
"and  something  sweeter." 

Then  she  fired;  but  there  was  no  explosion;  and  as  he 
sprang  on  her,  the  revolver  dropped  from  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  H 

THE  BROWN-PAPER  MISSIVE 

"I'D  rather  my  shoes  had  arrived  in  Persia  than  this 
peremptory  lady,"  thought  Dan  Lawrence  as  he  crossed  the 
Compound  from  his  house  to  the  press  building.  The  snow 
which  had  fallen  through  the  night  was  already  melting, 
though  it  was  only  ten  o'clock ;  and  the  holes  in  Mr.  Law- 
rence's rubbers  exactly  matched  those  in  the  soles  of  his 
American  shoes.  He  ran  the  last  few  steps  to  the  press 
building  but  took  time  to  scrape  the  snow  off  his  feet  before 
he  went  up  the  outside  stairs. 

The  room  which  he  entered  was  partly  office  and  partly 
composing-room.  Two  or  three  dark-eyed  Nestorian  print- 
ers were  setting  type  at  one  end. 

"May  your  day  be  white,"  said  the  oldest  of  them;  and 
Mr.  Lawrence  replied  with  a  salutation  and  a  smile  that 
creased  his  ruddy  cheeks  from  the  edges  of  his  gold-bowed 
glasses  to  the  ends  of  his  long  brown  mustache. 

The  American  man  who  was  sitting  at  a  desk  near  the 
window  made  a  sound  that  resembled  a  growl  but  did  not 
even  turn  his  head.  He  was  ploughing  with  a  blue  pencil 
through  reams  and  reams  of  proof-sheets,  his  hand  moving 
from  right  to  left  with  a  vigor  that  almost  made  havoc  of 
the  paper. 

Dan  went  over  and  stood  quietly  beside  him,  a  remnant  of 
the  smile  still  lingering  in  his  gray  eyes. 

"When  can  you  hold  up  a  minute?"  he  said.  "Are  you 
just  going  to  press?" 

7 


8  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

An  unmistakable  growl  answered  him. 

"How  soon  will  you  be  finished ?" 

"Let  me  alone,  can't  you  ?" 

"Not  if  I  have  to  wait  long." 

"Half  an  hour?" 

"Not  half  a  minute.  You  must  come  to,  and  read  this,  at 
least." 

Dan  profaned  the  proof-sheets  by  laying  down  on  them  a 
pulpy  fragment  of  brown  paper  with  something  written  on  it. 

The  man  at  the  desk  scraped  his  feet  and  scowled  as  he 
picked  up  the  dirty  missive  and  tried  to  read  it. 

"Looks  about  ready  to  throw  at  the  schoolroom  wall," 
he  remarked.  "Better  apply  to  Sammy  Whiting."  A 
smile  lit  up  for  a  second  his  face  which,  though  young, 
seemed  hardened  already  into  grim  lines.  He  squelched 
the  pulpy  mass  together  in  his  strong  fingers.  With  his 
other  hand  he  threw  open  the  window,  and  by  a  glance, 
asked  Dan's  permission  to  aim  the  ball  at  one  of  the  street 
dogs,  which  was  lying  just  under  the  wall.  The  indescrib- 
able odor  of  an  Oriental  city  rushed  in  at  the  window  and 
mingled  with  the  no  less  powerful  smell  which  was  already 
in  the  room.  If  the  three  Nestorian  workmen  had  been 
kept  at  home  for  a  week  or  so,  printers'  ink  and  turpentine 
might  have  been  the  most  odoriferous  things  left  in  the 
room. 

"Air  feels  good,"  said  the  man  at  the  desk  as  he  watched 
the  dog  chewing  hopefully  on  his  missile.  The  printers  were 
shivering  already;  and  after  a  glance  at  them  Dan  shut 
the  window. 

"You'll  get  air  enough  to-day,"  he  said,  "without  starting 
a  strike  among  your  workmen.  Come,  get  those  papers  out 
of  the  way.  You're  due  at  Kazu." 

"Kazu  !    What's  up?    Have  the  boxes  come?" 

"No,  a  lady  from  America." 

"A  lady  ?    Who's  expecting  her  ?  " 


THE   BROWN-PAPER   MISSIVE  9 

"No  one  here.  She's  come,  that's  all.  Kasha  Abraham 
brought  the  news  and  that  billet-doux  which  you  took  the 
liberty  of  throwing  away.  It  was  rather  a  peremptory  re- 
quest for  help,  and  addressed  to  me  by  name." 

"  Oh,  you  know  her  ?  " 

"I  never  heard  of  her,  nor  Margaret  either;  but  she  is 
alone  except  for  a  Moslem  courier.  He  is  keeping  her 
there  on  account  of  the  snow-storm,  and  of  course  we  must 
see  to  her." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  hurry  up,  Thor.  Get  those  things  out  of  the  way. 
I  have  to  be  at  the  Conference  in  Sergis  by  twelve  o'clock, 
and  we  may  as  well  ride  along  together.  You'll  take  Ab- 
dullah the  gate-keeper,  I  suppose.  It's  no  use  to  get  a 
Christian  mixed  up  in  a  row  with  that  Moslem.  That  is,  if 
there  should  be  a  row." 

At  the  word  row  a  gleam  of  pleasure  came  again  into  the 
face  of  Thorley  Prescott.  He  gathered  up  his  proof-sheets 
and  gave  a  brief  command  in  Syriac,  which  brought  all  three 
printers  hurrying  to  him  from  their  cases.  (A  few  Orientals 
under  Thorley  Prescott  had  learned  the  meaning  of  the  word 
hurry.)  Thorley  divided  up  the  proof-sheets  among  them, 
gave  a  few  brief  directions,  and  with  a  mutter  that  was 
meant  for  a  parting  salutation,  and  a  resounding  slam  of  the 
office  door,  was  off  with  his  friend  across  the  Compound. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  two  Americans  were  mounted  and 
rode  out  of  the  Compound  followed  by  Abdullah,  the  Mos- 
lem gate-keeper.  Prescott  was  on  a  black  stallion  that  could 
hardly  be  persuaded  to  keep  a  suitable  number  of  feet  on 
the  ground.  He  curveted  and  pranced  and  snorted  through 
the  narrow  streets  in  a  way  that  left  behind  him  a  lane  of 
frightened  foot-passengers.  Even  the  other  horses  gave 
way  before  him.  Probably  no  one  enjoyed  his  progress 
through  the  streets  of  Muramna,  except  the  Fiend  himself 
and  his  master. 


I0  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Dan  Lawrence  and  Abdullah,  when  they  reached  the  city 
gate,  found  Fresco tt  tightening  the  girths  of  his  saddle  and 
feeding  his  horse  a  lump  of  sugar.  The  Fiend,  though  the 
foam  still  showed  around  his  mouth,  was  standing  quietly, 
while  his  master  had  an  aspect  of  cheerful  calmness,  which 
he  was  far  from  showing  in  his  office  chair. 

"Well,  it's  a  great  day,  Dan.  I  don't  know  but  the 
stranded  female  is  doing  us  a  good  turn !  " 

Prescott  mounted  as  he  spoke  and  made  the  Fiend  walk, 
until  Dan  on  his  old  gray  horse  had  drawn  alongside. 

"What  you  going  to  do  with  her  when  I  get  her  ?" 

"Margaret  and  I  thought  she  had  better  come  to 
us,"  answered  Dan.  "Miss  Wilcox's  room  is  vacant,  you 
know." 

"And  you  know  nothing  about  her  ?" 

"Nothing." 

"Why,  Dan,  she  may  be  —  anything." 

"She  writes  like  a  lady,  and  her  name  is  — 

Thorley  gave  a  short  laugh.  "They  say  a  lady  is  known 
by  her  stationery." 

Dan  smiled.  "You  have  taken  the  journey  to  Muramna 
yourself,  Thorley.  Did  you  ever  find  hotel  stationery  in 
any  of  the  khans?" 

"No,  but  I  found  a  tooth-brush  once  for  the  use  of  the 
whole  establishment.  Well,  so  long,  Dan.  This  brute 
wants  to  go,  and  I  better  let  him  out,  or  we  won't  get  back 
to-night." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  make  it  ?  I  rather  expected  you 
would  have  to  spend  the  night." 

"Not  if  I  know  it.  The  lady  will  have  to  hump  herself. 
Well,  so  long." 

"Just  a  moment,  Thor.  Don't  take  risks  with  the  cour- 
ier, will  you  ?  You  know  how  venomous  those  fellows  can 
be.  If  you  think  there  is  likely  to  be  any  danger,  perhaps 
I  had  better  give  up  the  Conference  and  go  along  after  all. 


THE   BROWN-PAPER  MISSIVE  II 

It's  really  my  concern,  you  know,  and  I  wouldn't  like  to 
have  anything  happen  to  you  in  my  place." 

A  hearty  laugh  from  Thorley  answered  him  before  he  had 
finished  speaking ;  and  the  next  moment  the  Fiend  and  his 
rider  were  off  at  a  galop. 


CHAPTER  III 

DELIVERANCE  ON  A  BLACK  HORSE 

A  ROAD  in  Persia  is  really  no  road  at  all.  It  is  merely  a 
track  through  mud  or  dust,  and  a  track  that  is  very  hard  to 
follow.  On  this  November  morning  the  mud  was  as  deep 
as  mud  can  be,  the  stones  were  even  more  slippery  than 
usual,  and  the  pitfalls  were  hidden  by  three  or  four  inches 
of  snow  that  had  turned  into  slush.  Even  a  reckless  horse- 
man would  have  been  warranted  in  picking  his  way  with 
some  care.  But  Thorley  Prescott  had  no  regard  for  any- 
thing except  to  reach  the  guest-house  at  Kazu.  His  ser- 
vant Abdullah,  mounted  on  a  slower  horse,  was  obliged  to 
step  on  more  than  one  kariss.  Over  these  mounds  which 
concealed  old  waterways,  he  would  leap  as  quickly  as  he 
could,  and  never  without  muttering  a  prayer;  for  at  any 
moment  his  horse  might  plunge  into  the  broken  ground  up 
to  the  knees  at  least.  At  their  best  speed,  it  was  long  past 
noon  before  they  reached  the  khan. 

"You  talk  to  the  crowd,  Abdullah,"  said  Thorley  Pres- 
cott, "while  I  keep  the  old  man  busy." 

He  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  khan  with  the  handle  of  his 
whip,  dismounting,  because  even  he  could  not  hope  to  get 
his  information  without  talking  for  it.  There  were  no  signs 
of  a  caravan  near  the  guest-house;  so  he  felt  sure  that  his 
search  for  the  lady  was  not  yet  at  an  end.  Meanwhile  the 
crowd  had  gathered.  Abdullah  moved  among  them  find- 
ing and  making  acquaintances. 

Prescott,  receiving  no  answer  to  his  knock,  left  the  Fiend 
with  his  servant  and  pushed  his  way  into  the  khan.  In  the 
empty  guest-room  he  was  met  at  last  by  the  landlord,  who 

12 


DELIVERANCE  ON  A  BLACK  HORSE          13 

denied  all  knowledge  of  the  American  lady.  He  called  down 
upon  himself  the  curses  of  all  the  prophets  if  any  Inglesi  had 
lodged  last  night  in  his  miserable  hovel.  He  felt  himself 
marked  for  sorrow  that  any  favor  should  have  been  asked 
him  by  the  venerated  Saib,  which  he  could  not  grant ;  but  his 
tongue  found  it  impossible  to  compass  a  lie,  and  "by  the 
beard  of  - 

Prescott,  whose  eyes  had  been  searching  the  room, 
walked  over  to  one  corner  of  the  raised  mud  platform 
which  ran  around  three  sides  of  the  floor,  and  picked  up  a 
tan  riding-glove.  Turning  the  wrist  back,  he  found  the 
word  Jouvin,  and  the  look  with  which  he  showed  it  to  the 
landlord  caused  the  rest  of  a  fluent  speech  to  be  lost  forever 
in  the  labyrinth  of  a  very  long  and  horribly  dirty  beard. 

Abdullah's  head  appeared  nodding  in  the  doorway;  and 
Prescott,  stuffing  the  glove  into  his  pocket,  left  the  land- 
lord without  so  much  as  a  farewell  salutation. 

"I  have  found  it  all  out,  Saib,"  said  Abdullah.  "Shall  I 
tell  you  as  we  ride?  There  is  need  of  some  haste."  Pres- 
cott's  answer  was  to  mount  the  Fiend.  Abdullah  pointed 
the  way  into  a  track  which  led  off  at  an  oblique  angle  from 
the  road  to  Muramna. 

"You  are  sure  they  have  taken  her  to  the  mountains?" 
asked  Prescott. 

Abdullah  pointed  in  silence  to  tracks  in  the  snow. 
There  were  traces  of  a  small  caravan  and  especially  of  one 
lame  horse,  differently  shod  from  the  others.  Prescott 
nodded,  giving  the  Fiend  his  head.  Abdullah  would  have 
entered  into  explanations ;  but  his  master  checked  him. 

"Save  your  breath  till  afterwards,"  he  commanded. 
"How  long  since  they  started?" 

"At  least  an  hour,  Saib.  It  is  thought  that  the  horse  of 
the  Khanum  had  begun  to  go  lame.  They  call  her  the  Kha- 
num  with  the  Head  of  the  Rising  Sun.  It  should  not  be 
difficult  to  find  her." 


14  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

"Humph  !"  said  Prescott.  He  particularly  disliked  red 
hair. 

Now  the  Fiend  had  a  chance  to  prove  himself.  Prescott 
had  owned  him  but  a  little  while  and  had  never  ridden  him 
on  a  long  expedition.  A  more  prudent  man  would  have 
taken  another  horse.  Prescott  knew  it  and  actually 
chuckled  as  he  felt  the  unfailing  strength  of  the  muscles 
that  carried  him  along.  He  could  easily  have  distanced 
Abdullah  but  even  he  thought  it  better  to  keep  within 
sight  of  his  servant.  Very  soon  the  track  began  to  lead 
uphill,  the  rocks  grew  larger,  the  clay  more  slippery  than 
ever.  Once  Abdullah's  horse  went  down  on  his  knees. 

Though  luckily  unhurt,  he  refused  to  travel  as  fast  as 
before.  Then  Prescott's  impatience  got  the  better  of  him. 

"Come  as  fast  as  you  can,  Abdullah,"  he  shouted,  for 
the  first  time  touching  his  crop  to  the  flank  of  the  Fiend. 
No  second  touch  was  needed.  It  seemed  to  Abdullah  that 
the  horse  and  his  rider  flew  up  the  side  of  the  mountain  and 
vanished  into  the  sky.  He  pushed  on  as  fast  as  he  could ; 
for  it  is  not  pleasant  even  for  a  Moslem  to  ride  alone  in  the 
mountains  of  Persia. 

Thorley  Prescott  had  ridden  alone  not  more  than  fifteen 
minutes  when  he  heard  very  faintly  the  sound  of  a  woman's 
scream.  His  road  just  then  lay  down  hill.  How  he  and  the 
Fiend  escaped  rolling  in  a  heap  at  the  bottom  of  that  hill, 
is  one  of  the  miracles  not  due  to  common  sense.  The 
screams  continued,  seeming  to  come  from  a  defile  somewhat 
higher  up  and  a  little  off  the  main  road.  Thorley  began 
now  to  urge  his  horse.  His  impulse  was  to  shout  a  reply ; 
but  he  repressed  it,  counting  on  the  surprise  of  his  attack  to 
make  up  for  his  being  single-handed.  Suddenly  the  Fiend, 
mounting  a  path  which  seemed  to  have  no  end,  swerved 
around  a  huge  rock;  and  Prescott  saw  just  below  him  a 
crowd  of  muleteers  and  a  small  dark  man  in  a  green  turban, 
with  his  arms  around  a  red-haired,  hatless  woman  whom 


DELIVERANCE  ON  A  BLACK  HORSE          15 

he  was  trying  to  drag  from  her  horse.  The  woman  was 
fighting  desperately  with  her  whip  which  one  of  the  mule- 
teers snatched  just  as  Prescott  rode  up.  At  the  same  time 
her  saddle  turned  and  as  Prescott  dashed  down  through  the 
crowd  of  mules  and  muleteers,  she  fell  to  the  ground. 

The  next  moment  the  man  with  the  green  turban  was 
jerked  into  the  air,  and  a  rain  of  blows  fell  about  him,  some 
of  which  overflowed  to  the  muleteers.  A  few  commands  in 
Turkish  sent  them  back  cringing  to  their  loads;  for  the 
human  beast  of  burden  is  brave  only  when  he  feels  that  the 
upper  hand  belongs  entirely  to  him.  From  the  man  in  the 
green  turban  also,  courage  began  to  ooze.  It  was  not  long 
before  he  became  limp  in  the  hands  of  his  captor.  Even 
his  clothes  began  to  give  way  in  that  vigorous  grasp ;  and 
there  seemed  to  be  very  little  left  of  him,  when,  with  one 
jerk,  Prescott  landed  him  across  the  pommel  of  his  saddle. 

It  was  high  time  then,  that  the  rescuer  should  see  what 
had  become  of  the  rescued.  But  the  man  who  had  not 
feared  to  tackle  unarmed,  five  of  his  fellow-men,  was  afraid 
to  turn  in  his  saddle  and  look  for  a  lady.  He  had  once  seen 
a  woman  in  a  faint,  and  then  he  had  run  away.  Now  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  turn  his  head ;  and  when  he  had 
done  so,  he  was  ready  to  fall  off  his  horse  with  surprise. 
Mounted  on  her  horse,  with  her  hat  neatly  perched  on  her 
orderly  hair,  sat  a  self-possessed  young  woman  loading  a 
shiny  little  revolver.  She  turned  her  head  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"I  wish  I  knew,"  she  said,  "when  Husain  took  out  those 
cartridges.  It's  very  embarrassing  to  fire  an  empty  revol- 
ver. But  for  that,  I  could  have  managed  nicely.  How- 
ever, since  you've  come,  I  shan't  need  firearms,  shall  I?" 
She  smiled  at  him  in  a  way  that  made  Thorley  feel  that  the 
sunshine  was  unusually  brilliant.  He  did  not  notice  that 
she  was  still  so  pale  that  every  freckle  stood  out  against  her 
white  skin,  nor  did  he  see  her  body  shaking  ever  so  little  in 
the  saddle. 


1 6  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Now  Abdullah  rode  up  on  a  run  which  could  not  have 
lasted  much  farther.  At  Prescott's  command  he  took 
rope  from  the  loads  of  the  muleteers  and  wound  it  around 
the  body  of  the  man  in  the  green  turban.  Prescott  tested 
the  knots  before  he  would  let  the  Hadji  be  lifted  from  his 
saddle  bow.  Then  he  gave  orders  to  have  him  tied  on  the 
back  of  one  of  the  mules,  the  muleteers  helping  eagerly  and 
jeering  in  the  face  of  their  late  master.  This  done,  he 
turned  to  the  lady. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  ride  on,"  he  suggested. 

"By  all  means,"  she  answered. 

Prescott  led  the  way,  followed  by  the  lady.  The  six 
muleteers  came  next  with  Abdullah  and  his  whip  in  ener- 
getic charge  of  the  captive  Hadji. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   COWARD  AND  HIS  MONEY 

WHILE  they  were  still  in  the  mountain  passes,  there  was 
no  chance  to  do  anything  but  to  get  over  the  ground  as  best 
they  could.  The  lady  might  watch  the  back  of  her  deliverer 
and  speculate  as  to  who  he  was.  She  probably  did  so  in  the 
intervals  of  reflecting  on  her  late  danger ;  but  she  had  no 
chance  to  satisfy  her  curiosity,  and  strange  to  say  she 
was  not  so  very  curious.  It  was  enough  for  the  present  to 
know  that  she  had  some  one  to  take  care  of  her.  She  was 
glad  that  Hadji  Husain  was  behind  where  she  could  not  see 
him.  She  hoped  she  had  looked  upon  his  evil  face  for  the 
last  time.  The  threats  that  he  had  made  as  she  fought 
with  him  rang  in  her  ears;  and  she  resolved  that  Jean 
Stuart  would  never  again  stir  a  step  in  the  Orient  without 
a  good  strong  American  man  at  her  side. 

"This  one  is  strong  enough,"  she  thought,  gazing  at  the 
smooth  black  head  in  front  of  her  (Thorley  had  lost  his  cap 
as  he  climbed  the  mountain),  "and  I'm  sure  he's  an  Ameri- 
can. But  what  in  the  world  is  he  doing  here  ?  He's  a 
gentleman,  I  think,  and  he  may  be  a  scholar.  At  any  rate, 
he's  every  inch  a  man  ;  but  I'll  eat  my  hat  if  he  ever  was  or 
ever  would  be  a  parson." 

Jean  Stuart's  curiosity  was  beginning  to  get  the  upper 
hand  of  fear  and  fatigue  and  she  was  glad  when  they  reached 
a  comparatively  level  place  where  they  could  ride  together. 

It  was  no  surprise  to  her,  of  course,  that  Prescott  should 
take  the  first  opportunity  to  begin  a  conversation.  But 
Prescott  had  no  desire  to  talk.  There  was  one  thing  more 
that  had  to  be  done. 

c  17 


1 8  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Hold  up  a  minute,  please,"  he  said.  "This  is  the  best 
place  to  let  the  Hadji  go." 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  she  asked  so  sharply  that  he 
stopped  the  Fiend  near  her  instead  of  going  back  to  Ab- 
dullah. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"Do  I  understand  you  to  speak  of  letting  the  Hadji  go? 
Is  he  to  have  no  punishment?  You  do  not  understand, 
perhaps,  that  he  had  already  forced  me  far  out  of  my  way, 
and  had  told  me  that  he  was  carrying  me  off  to  his  strong- 
hold in  the  mountains.  His  followers  are  Kurds,  he  says ; 
and  he  explained  to  me  fully  what  they  and  he  would  do 
with  my  —  my  things,  and  —  and  - 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Thorley,  impatiently.  "But  what  do 
you  want  me  to  do?" 

"Can't  you  take  him  to  Muramna,"  said  she,  "and  have 
him  punished?  Is  it  for  the  public  safety  to  let  him  go?" 

Prescott  gave  a  short  laugh.  "Public  safety!"  he  said. 
"You're  in  Persia." 

"But  is  there  no  way  of  restraining  criminals?" 

"The  new  Governor  of  Muramna  might  have  him  bas- 
tinadoed for  you.  Perhaps  you  might  even  get  him  shot 
from  the  mouth  of  a  cannon." 

"Oh,  mercy!" 

"That's  what  he  won't  get,  if  the  Governor  wants  to 
punish  him.  If  not,  there  are  plenty  of  excuses  for  letting 
him  go  scot  free." 

The  lady  looked  at  him,  aghast.  "Then  there  is  nothing 
to  be  done  but  to  let  that  rascal  go,  after  he  has  frightened 
me  almost  to  death  ?" 

Prescott  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "After  all,  he  didn't 
hurt  you." 

Jean  Stuart  thought  she  never  in  all  her  life  had  met  so 
unpleasant  a  man. 

"Of  course  it  shall  be  as  you  say,"  she  said,  drawing  her- 


A   COWARD   AND   HIS   MONEY  19 

self  up  with  an  expression  and  a  tone  which  had  seldom 
failed  in  their  effect. 

Thorley  Prescott  turned  away  unscathed,  "I'll  scare  him 
a  little  mo^e,  before  I  let  him  go,"  he  remarked  with  zest. 
"Listen  if  you  like." 

The  Hadji  was  now  untied  and  set  on  his  feet.  The  mule- 
teers and  Abdullah  formed  a  circle  around  him  while  Pres- 
cott went  over  and  stood  near  Miss  Stuart.  The  Hadji 
fell  to  his  knees  as  Prescott  looked  at  him.  With  groans 
and  sniffling  he  began  to  beg  for  mercy.  Prescott  regarded 
him  in  perfect  silence,  so  long  that  Jean  Stuart  thought  she 
should  have  to  scream.  At  last  the  words  came  like  the 
lash  of  a  whip. 

"Get  up,  Husain." 

The  man  rose  quickly. 

"You  know  the  new  Governor  of  Muramna?"  Husain 
mumbled  something  Miss  Stuart  could  not  understand. 

"Speak  English  and  say  'Sir.'  Do  you  know  the  new 
Governor?" 

"Oh,  sir,  have  mercy."  The  man  sank  again  to  his  knees, 
then  at  one  stern  word  tottered  to  his  feet,  stuttering  abject 
appeals. 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  would  do  to  you  if  I  gave  you 
over  to  him  ?" 

Husain  began  to  cry  aloud  and  to  beat  his  breast. 

"Last  week  a  man  died  under  the  bastinado  for  speak- 
ing unpleasantly  to  an  Englishman." 

"It  is  a  woman,  sir,"  said  Husain  with  sudden  cheerful- 
ness, and  an  indescribably  belittling  jerk  of  his  thumb 
toward  Miss  Stuart.' 

"So  much  the  worse.  This  is  what  we  Americans  do  to  a 
man  who  attacks  a  woman." 

Prescott  put  his  hands  around  the  Hadji's  neck  and  let 
him  feel  how  easy  it  would  be  to  choke  him.  The  Hadji's 
eyes  started  out  of  their  sockets  and  his  legs  crumpled  un- 


20  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

der  him.  Prescott  quietly  held  him  up  by  the  throat  until 
a  voice  from  behind  said,  "Oh,  let  him  go,  or  I  shall  faint." 
Then  he  dropped  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  hot  potato. 
Husain,  with  his  tongue  hanging  out,  called  Allah  to  wit- 
ness that  not  one  hair  of  the  Khanum's  head  had  been 
injured. 

"That's  lucky  for  you,"  growled  Prescott,  standing  over 
the  wretch  in  such  an  attitude  that  he  fell  on  his  face  writh- 
ing. 

"Get  up,  you  coward,  and  be  as  much  of  a  man  as  you 
can."  Prescott's  foot  moved  as  he  spoke.  Husain  yelped 
but  got  up  in  a  hurry. 

"Now,"  said  Prescott,  "would  you  like  to  be  caught 
again  disturbing  any  one  that  belongs  to  us  ?  Do  you  care 
to  feel  my  hands  around  your  neck  or  my  whip  on  your 
back?" 

The  feelings  of  the  Hadji  could  be  expressed  only  in  a  flood 
of  Turkish. 

"You  see  how  we  are  able  to  defend  ourselves.  You 
might  have  fought  me  to-day  seven  to  one." 

"Ah  sir,  I  am  no  coward.  Your  valor  was  as  the  valor 
of  Rustem,  and  you  had  a  gun." 

"I  had  nothing  but  a  riding  whip,  and  that  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  use  again  on  you." 

"Oh  no,  sir  I"  grovelling  before  him.  "I  am  a  delicate 
man,  sir,  I  cannot  bear  it." 

"Hold  your  tongue.     One  'Sir'  is  enough  in  a  sentence." 

Turning  to  the  muleteers,  Prescott  spoke  to  them  in 
Turkish.  They  seemed  to  assent,  but  when  he  spoke  again, 
they  looked  frightened  and  shook  their  heads.  He  asked 
them  another  question  and  they  rose  with  a  suppressed 
shout,  and  began  to  adjust  their  loads. 

"Husain,"  said  Prescott,  "I  have  decided  to  let  you  off 
this  time  without  the  whipping.  Start  at  once  and  go 
toward  Kazu.  But  remember  this,  that  the  Christian  God, 


A    COWARD   AND   HIS   MONEY  21 

though  a  God  of  great  patience,  does  not  give  to  any  of  His 
children  more  than  a  certain  amount  of  it.  Every  bit  of 
my  patience  has  now  been  spent  on  you.  If  ever  I  hear  of 
your  hanging  about  our  premises  or  bullying  any  one  con- 
nected with  us,  foreigner  or  native,  I  will  whip  you  with  my 
own  hands  till  the  blood  runs.  Now  go  !" 

The  Hadji  rushed  toward  his  horse;  but  the  muleteers 
interfered,  all  talking  at  once,  and  laying  hold  of  him  as  he 
tried  to  slip  away.  Prescott  appointed  two  of  them  to  act 
as  guards  while  he  questioned  the  others.  After  talking  to 
them,  he  went  over  to  Miss  Stuart. 

"The  muleteers  say  that  the  Hadji  owes  them  wages," 
he  said. 

"Yes,  I  paid  him  fifteen  tomans  a  day  for  everything; 
and  he  was  to  give  them  two  tomans  apiece." 

"How  many  days  have  you  been  travelling  with  him  ?" 

"Since  the  River  Aras;    six  days  counting  to-day." 

"Have  you  paid  him  for  to-day?" 

"Thirty  tomans.  He  demanded  double  wages  on  account 
of  the  snow." 

Prescott,  after  a  moment's  calculation,  turned  to  the 
Hadji. 

"Husain,"  he  said,  "you  have  forty-eight  tomans  belong- 
ing to  these  men,  and  fifteen  tomans  which  you  extorted 
this  morning  from  the  lady.  Of  course  you  have  robbed  her 
all  along.  We'll  let  that  go  because  she  agreed  to  it;  but 
the  sixty-three  tomans  you  must  give  me." 

Husain,  with  tears,  protested  that  he  had  no  money,  that 
he  would  be  reduced  to  beggary,  that  his  wives  and  his 
little  children  would  perish,  that  before  Allah — . 

Prescott  cut  him  short  with  a  question  to  the  men.  They 
assented  eagerly,  with  looks  of  secret  joy  among  themselves. 
Husain  argued  in  Turkish  with  much  rolling  of  his  eyes  and 
such  gestures  as  his  captors  would  permit.  This  question 
of  money  made  a  different  man  of  him,  shrewder,  less  ab- 


22  THE    GOODLY    FELLOWSHIP 

ject,  with  a  touch  of  vindictiveness  that  amounted  almost 
to  courage. 

Prescott  turned  again  to  Miss  Stuart.  "He  says  the  men 
were  to  have  only  one  toman." 

"He  agreed  with  me  for  two.  I  made  him  sign  a  contract. 
Do  you  want  it  ?  "  She  produced  it  without  waiting  for  an 
answer. 

Prescott  held  it  up  before  the  Hadji. 

"Now  Husain,  you  will  give  me  sixty- three  tomans  or  you 
will  go  with  me  to  the  Governor." 

There  was  no  more  delay.  Husain,  with  lamentations 
that  threw  doubt  on  the  sincerity  of  his  earlier  efforts,  pro- 
duced the  sixty-three  tomans.  Then  Prescott  ordered  the 
men  to  free  him.  Husain  rushed  over  to  Miss  Stuart,  and 
trying  to  grasp  her  feet,  burst  into  a  flood  of  entreaty.  In 
her  efforts  to  avoid  his  touch  Miss  Stuart  almost  lost  her 
seat.  Prescott  leaped  at  his  collar,  flung  him  violently  to 
the  ground,  and  stood  over  him  with  a  face  that  would  have 
turned  a  braver  heart  cold. 

"You  damned  scoundrel,"  he  cried.  "Get  out,  now, 
quick!  Or—" 

With  one  pull  he  brought  the  Hadji  to  his  feet  again, 
raising  his  whip  to  strike.  One  terrible  blow,  one  wild 
shriek,  and  the  rascal  was  running  toward  his  horse. 

"Let  him  go,"  cried  Prescott.  "To  your  saddles,  every 
one  of  you.  He  who  first  gets  to  the  city  gate  shall  have 
an  extra  toman." 

"Saib,  the  Khanum,"  cried  Abdullah,  and  Prescott  turned 
just  in  time  to  keep  Miss  Stuart  from  falling  off  her  horse. 

"Confound  it,"  he  muttered,  holding  her  uncomfortably 
against  the  horse  while  Abdullah  went  for  water.  "Why 
can't  a  woman  have  the  sense  to  enjoy  a  row  ?" 

Jean  Stuart  opened  her  eyes  and  pulled  at  the  pommel  to 
get  herself  back  into  the  saddle.  "Because  she  is  never  the 
hero  of  it,"  she  said,  with  the  life  in  her  gray  eyes  contradict- 
ing the  pallor  of  her  face. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   LAWRENCE   HOUSE 

THORLEY  PRESCOTT  ordered  that  men  and  animals  be  fed 
before  they  resumed  the  journey ;  but  he  would  not  allow 
them  to  wait  for  food  to  be  cooked.  He  himself  saw  to  it 
that  Miss  Stuart  made  a  sufficient  meal.  She  took  his 
anxiety  for  granted ;  but  she  would  have  been  surprised  if 
she  had  known  its  chief  motive.  "Next  time  she  might 
really  faint,"  thought  Prescott,  and  he  saw  with  relief  as  he 
helped  her  remount,  that  there  was  color  in  her  cheeks.  He 
did  not  ride  with  her  at  first,  for  he  wan  ted  to  impress  it  upon 
the  muleteers  that  they  would  have  to  hurry.  Already  it 
was  growing  dark ;  and  in  spite  of  his  personal  recklessness 
Thorley  Prescott  knew  as  well  as  any  one  that  the  Muramna 
highway  after  sunset  was  no  place  for  an  American  woman ; 
nor,  indeed,  for  any  one  except  a  bandit.  Besides,  the  later 
they  reached  the  city  gate,  the  less  chance  there  would  be 
of  getting  it  opened. 

Meanwhile  curiosity  had  a  chance  to  grow  in  the  mind  of 
Jean  Stuart.  As  soon  as  Thorley  dropped  behind  the  mule- 
teers she  made  a  sign  that  she  wished  to  speak  with  him. 

"  I  suppose  we  are  on  the  way  to  Muramna  ?  "  she  said. 

"That's  what  you  want,  isn't  it?"  he  answered. 

"Muramna  has  always  been  my  destination,"  she  replied. 

Amusement  sprang  full-armed  into  his  eyes.  "I  wonder 
why,"  he  demanded. 

"Not  half  as  much  as  I  wonder  who  you  are  and  how  you 
happened  to  come  riding  to  my  rescue  at  exactly  the  right 
moment." 

"Why,  Dan  Lawrence  sent  me,  of  course." 

23 


24  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Oh!" 

There  was  a  brief  silence.     Then  she  began  again. 

"You  are  staying  in  Muramna,  perhaps,  with  Mr.  Law- 
rence ?  " 

"I  live  there." 

"Oh  -      Is  there  anything  to  do ? " 

"You  might  ask  Dan  when  you  see  him.  He'll  have  a 
job  planned  for  you  by  this  time,  probably." 

"Forme?" 

One  merry  little  sound  escaped  her,  more  provoking  than 
a  laugh,  more  refined  than  a  chuckle.  Thorley  Prescott 
wondered  how  she  made  it  and  began  scheming  to  have  her 
do  it  again. 

"Suppose  you  tell  me  your  name,"  he  said. 

"Before  you  have  mentioned  your  own?" 

"Oh,  mine  is  Samuel  Thorley  Prescott  —  at  your  ser- 
vice," he  added,  very  much  to  his  own  surprise  putting  up 
his  hand  to  take  off  his  cap  and  make  her  a  salute. 

A  laugh  more  in  tune  than  the  usual  chime  of  bells  rang 
out  in  the  twilight.  Then  she  begged  his  pardon,  for  his 
look  of  surprise  had  been  succeeded  by  one  of  dismay. 

' '  My  best  and  only  head-covering, ' '  he  explained .  ' '  Well, 
it's  up  to  Dan ;  he  has  three." 

"I  should  say  it  was  up  to  me,"  she  ventured. 

To  her  surprise  he  laughed  heartily. 

"So  it  is.  Only  this  morning  I  had  hopes  that  you  were 
the  boxes  from  America." 

"Then  there  are  no  hats  to  be  bought  in  Muramna  ?"  she 
asked. 

"Well,  hardly." 

Another  silence  fell. 

Curiosity  was  now  aflame  in  the  mind  of  Jean  Stuart ;  but 
before  she  could  frame  another  question,  Thorley  Prescott 
spoke. 

"You  didn't  tell  me  your  name,  after  all." 


THE   LAWRENCE   HOUSE  25 

"  Oh,  I  am  Jean  Stuart.     Didn't  Mr.  Lawrence  tell  you  ?  " 

"He  showed  me  your  letter;  but  I  don't  know  how  much 
of  it  he  could  read  himself.  I  couldn't  make  anything  of 
it  — but  a  ball  which  I  threw  at  a  dog." 

"I'm  afraid  you're  a  case  for  the  S.  P.  C.  A." 

"Oh  no,  it  was  a  very  slushy  ball,  and  the  dog  knew  I 
meant  it  for  a  joke.  But  you'll  be  a  case,  if  you  ride  that 
lame  horse  any  longer." 

"I  know  it,"  she  said  with  great  distress.  "I  feel  it  all 
through  me  every  time  he  limps.  But  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"The  Fiend  wouldn't  let  you  stay  on  his  back." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  would.  But  you're  heavier  for  poor  Lord 
Chesterton  than  I  am." 

Prescott  sprang  from  the  Fiend's  back,  ordered  the  mule- 
teers to  go  on,  helped  Miss  Stuart  to  dismount,  and  changed 
the  saddles  without  paying  any  attention  to  protests  from 
her.  Then  he  held  his  hand  for  her  to  mount,  saying, 
"Come,  I  shall  think  you're  afraid." 

She  forgot  she  was  tired;  and  for  several  minutes  the 
Fiend  forgot  too ;  but  her  hand  on  the  snaffle  was  light 
and  strong ;  and  it  was  nearly  ten  hours  since  the  Fiend 
had  left  his  stable.  So  presently  he  was  jogging  along 
again  behind  the  muleteers.  Thorley  Prescott,  leading  the 
lame  Lord  Chesterton,  walked  the  rest  of  the  way  to 
Muramna. 

At  least  two  hours  longer  they  plodded  over  that  miserable 
excuse  for  a  road.  The  muleteers  lit  one  or  two  lanterns, 
which  sometimes  brought  to  light  a  pitfall  when  it  was  too 
late  to  avoid  it.  It  had  grown  cold  enough  to  freeze  just 
the  surface  of  the  slush  ;  and  the  horses'  feet  crunched 
through  at  every  step.  As  for  Prescott,  he  took  no  pains 
not  to  splash  ;  and  the  spark  or  two  of  interest  which  he  had 
begun  to  feel  in  the  stranger  died  a  muddy  death.  Their 
journey  seemed  all  the  more  endless  because  the  lights  of 
Muramna  had  appeared  for  so  long  to  be  very  near  them. 


26  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Jean  Stuart,  not  yet  fully  used  to  the  Persian  atmosphere, 
was  tantalized  again  and  again.  The  effort  it  cost  her  to  sit 
upright  in  her  saddle  was  very  great.  More  than  once  she 
caught  herself  falling  into  a  doze.  When  at  last  the  mule- 
teers stopped  and  the  Fiend  halted  of  his  own  accord,  she 
could  not  believe  that  it  meant  anything  but  another  vexa- 
tious delay.  Only  the  voice  of  Thorley  Prescott  shouting 
to  the  keeper  of  the  city  gate  convinced  her  that  this  at  last 
was  Muramna. 

And  now  there  was  another  vexatious  delay.  It  is  no  easy 
thing  to  enter  an  Oriental  city  after  nightfall.  Thorley 
Prescott  would  have  been  wiser  if  he  had  supplied  the  keeper 
of  the  gate  with  a  few  inducements  before  he  had  left  for 
Kazu  that  morning.  What  arguments  he  now  used,  he  never 
told ;  but  his  father  noticed  later  that  Thorley  withdrew 
his  order  for  a  new  suit,  which  was  to  have  been  sent  from 
America. 

Now  they  began  to  pick  their  way  through  the  crooked, 
narrow  streets  of  the  city.  The  going  there  was  little  better 
than  outside  the  walls.  Their  horses  were  liable  to  step  on 
sleeping  street  dogs.  The  widely-separated,  rough  cobble- 
stones, slippery  with  mud,  were  even  more  treacherous  than 
the  quagmires  of  the  highway,  and  the  high  walls  on  each 
side  seemed  to  make  the  darkness  tangible.  For  the  first 
time,  since  she  had  seen  the  last  of  Hadji  Husain,  Jean 
Stuart  felt  terrified.  It  occurred  to  her  now  that  she  had 
no  idea  where  she  was  going. 

"Mr.  Prescott,"  she  cried ;  and  a  grim  voice  answered  her 
from  below  in  the  darkness,  "Well?" 

"I  hope  the  hotel  is  better  than  those  awful  khans.  You 
will  speak  to  the  proprietor,  won't  you?" 

"The  hotel?" 

"Yes.  You  are  going  to  see  that  I  get  there  safely, 
aren't  you  ?  You're  not  going  to  leave  me  until  I  am  under 
a  roof?" 


THE    LAWRENCE   HOUSE  2J 

"Wasn't  planning  to.  What  Muramna  hotels  were 
starred  in  your  Baedecker?" 

"Oh  well,  even  if  it  is  uncomfortable,  it  will  be  a  place 
to  sleep  in.  What  is  the  name  of  the  best  hotel?" 

"The  Lawrence  House." 

"How  very  American  !     Who  keeps  it?" 

Then  Thorley  Prescott  laughed.  Jean  Stuart  felt  a  vexa- 
tion that  grew  into  anger  when  he  said,  "Do  you  know 
anything  about  Persia?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"  You  aren't  really  expecting  to  find  a  hotel  in  Muramna  ?  " 

"You  spoke  about  the  Lawrence  House  yourself." 

"Mrs.  Lawrence  has  invited  you  to  her  home." 

"But  she  doesn't  know  me.  Why  should  she  invite  me? 
I  can't  possibly  accept.  I  shall  go  to  whatever  place  is 
open  to  travellers,  no  matter  how  poor  it  is." 

"Oh,  very  well.     Shall  I  call  an  electric  cab?" 

Jean  Stuart  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak ;  and  there  was 
silence  for  several  minutes.  Then  they  reached  a  street  a 
trifle  cleaner  and  more  level  than  the  others.  A  substantial 
wall  loomed  up  before  them,  with  a  building  inside  that 
looked  very  tall.  Lights  could  be  seen  from  the  upper  win- 
dow of  another  building  farther  in.  The  muleteers  stopped ; 
and  Prescott  rode  among  them  to  rap  with  the  butt  of  his 
whip  at  the  gate  and  to  cry,  "Issachar !  Shimoon  !  Hil- 
gar !  Whoever  you  are,  wake  up!" 

Some  one  had  evidently  been  watching,  for  the  gate  was 
opened  without  delay. 

"Oh  .Dan,  is  it  you?  How'd  you  get  here  so  soon?" 
cried  Thorley. 

"I've  been  watching  in  your  office.     Have  you  got  her  ?  " 

"Yes,  here  she  is.  Miss  Stuart,  this  is  Mr.  Lawrence,  — 
proprietor  of  the  Lawrence  House,"  he  added  in  a  lower 
tone. 

"Mr.  Lawrence,"  said  Jean,  offering  her  hand,  and  was 


2g  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

going  on  to  speak  incoherently  of  "embarrassment"  and 
"hospitality"  and  "your  wife"  and  a  "nuisance."  But 
Dan  would  have  none  of  it. 

"Let  me  lead  your  horse,"  he  said.  "You  must  be  tired 
to  death.  My  wife  is  looking  forward  to  your  coming,  with 
the  greatest  interest.  I  hope  you  have  brought  the  latest 
fashion  papers." 

The  tone  was  so  friendly  and  commonplace  that  Jean 
Stuart  could  not  think  of  herself  as  an  intruder.  It  was 
only  a  few  steps  farther  to  the  open  door  of  a  house,  which 
she  forgot  to  measure  with  the  eye  of  a  woman  who  had  all 
her  life  owned  more  houses  than  she  could  live  in.  And 
now  the  figure  of  a  lady  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  a 
cheery  voice  rang  out  into  the  darkness. 

"Is  Miss  Stuart  there?    Oh,  I  am  so  glad !" 

The  lady  ran  down  the  steps,  took  Jean  by  the  elbow, 
then  feeling  that  she  could  scarcely  stand,  slipped  an  arm 
around  her  waist  and  helped  her  into  the  house. 

"Are  you  able  to  go  right  upstairs?"  she  asked.  "Dan 
will  send  your  things  and  I  really  think  you'd  be  more  com- 
fortable in  bed.  Besides  I've  had  water  heated  and  I  guess 
a  bath  in  a  tub  will  feel  pretty  good." 

"  Good  ! "  cried  Miss  Stuart,  sitting  down  on  the  bottom 
step  of  the  stairs.  "Just  give  me  a  minute,  won't  you? 
I've  been  praying  for  the  shelter  of  a  Persian  hotel,  and  here 
I  wake  up  to  find  myself  in  an  American  heaven  !  " 

There  came  from  a  doorway  at  Miss  Stuart's  right  the 
sound  of  a  mellow  laugh.  She  raised  her  heavy  eyelids  and 
saw  an  old  man  regarding  her  with  a  benignity  which  made 
her  love  him  on  the  spot.  He  stood  quietly  watchful,  strok- 
ing his  long  white  beard.  After  his  laugh,  he  paused  before 
he  said,  still  very  gently,  but  with  a  strength  of  tone  that 
made  the  words  sink  even  into  the  tired  mind  of  Jean 
Stuart :  — 

"Ah,  Margaret,  our  new  young  friend  has  seen  already 


THE   LAWRENCE   HOUSE  29 

that  you  and  Dan  and  the  little  ones  know  how  to  make  our 
home  indeed  a  'Foretaste.' ' 

"A  foretaste  of  what?"  asked  Jean  Stuart  sleepily, 
getting  up  as  Margaret  Lawrence  pulled  helpfully  at  her 
arm. 

Dr.  Lawrence's  face,  which  with  his  last  words  had  grown 
serious  and  even  a  little  wistful,  broke  again  into  a  most 
lovable  smile.  To  Jean  his  answer  was  so  mysterious  that 
her  mind  refused  at  the  time  to  puzzle  over  it. 

"Of  our  Real  Home,"  he  answered. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  INTRODUCTION 

Miss  STUART  slept  without  waking  for  at  least  ten  hours. 
When  at  last  she  opened  her  eyes,  she  saw  at  the  foot  of  her 
bed  a  quaint  little  face  framed  in  fine  brown  hair  and  sup- 
ported by  an  active  figure  in  a  plaid  dress.  As  the  stranger's 
eyes  opened,  the  little  face  crinkled  up  into  a  smile  and  a 
little  voice  said,  — 

"My  mother  sent  me  to  come  in  very  quitely  and  see  if 
you  want  your  breakfast  yet.  She  says  you  are  not  to  get 
up  on  any  account." 

Miss  Stuart,  laughing  softly,  raised  herself  on  one  elbow. 
"Come  here,  you  darling  mite,"  she  said,  " and  tell  me  how 
old  you  are  and  what  your  name  is." 

The  child  went  around  the  bed  and  offered  her  hand 
gravely.  "My  name  is  Ruth  Lawrence,  and  I'm  nine  years 
old.  Danny  is  only  seven.  But  if  you  are  awake,  I  must 
go  and  tell  Mamma.  Would  you  like  me  to  come  back  and 
plump  your  pillows  ?  " 

"Very  much,  dear  heart;  and  tell  your  mother  I  hope 
I  am  awake,  but  it  seems  too  good  to  be  true." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Ruth,  soberly,  "but 
Mamma  will  prob'ly ;  she  most  always  does  know  what 
people  mean,  even  Uncle  Thor." 

"So  do  I,"  announced  another  voice  from  behind  the 
door.  "She  means  she's  so  glad  to  be  here  that  she  hopes 
she  isn't  dreaming.  I  don't  think  that's  much  of  a  joke." 

The  merriest  kind  of  laugh  rippled  out  from  the  bed. 
"  Is  that  Danny  ?  "  cried  Miss  Stuart.  "  Make  him  come  in." 

30 


THE   INTRODUCTION  3! 

As  she  spoke,  there  popped  into  the  doorway  a  pair  of 
shining  gray  eyes  with  a  small,  thin  child  attached.  "  Good 
morning  !"  said  a  cheerful  voice.  Ruth  went  over  to  him, 
saying  in  a  reproachful  undertone,  — 

"Mamma  said  you  were  not  to  come  in." 

"Well  she  asked  me.  Mamma  wouldn't  want  me  to  be 
unpolite." 

Ruth,  with  a  righteous  air  of  having  done  her  own  duty 
and  some  of  her  brother's  as  well,  went  her  way ;  while 
Danny  advanced  to  the  bedside,  tugging  at  a  gold  chain  that 
was  festooned  across  the  front  of  his  blouse.  A  large  gold 
watch  presently  popped  out  from  a  pocket  that  was  a  little 
too  small ;  and  Danny  exclaimed  triumphantly :  — 

"See!  Uncle  Thor  lent  me  his  gold  watch  and  chain. 
I  can  wear  it  to  Thanksgiving  dinner  at  Aunt  Kate's. 
Won't  Sammy  Whiting  be  mad,  though  !  Uncle  Thor  says 
he's  a  brat.  What  is  a  brat?" 

"I  never  answer  questions  until  my  teeth  are  brushed." 

She  lay  back  on  her  pillows  smiling  at  him ;  and  he  stared 
at  her.  The  large  eyes  travelled  thoughtfully  over  every 
inch  of  her  face  and  the  full  lips  moistened  each  other  with 
a  hearty  relish  before  they  gave  the  verdict. 

"Well,  /  think  you  look  pretty  nice  if  your  hair  is  red; 
and  you  aren't  so  very  homely  either.  Uncle  Thor  told 
Papa  that  Mrs.  Whiting  would  consider  you  a  very  plain 
woman.  I  think  your  looks  are  the  kind  that  brighten 
things  up  a  good  deal;  but  it's  harder  to  tell  before  your 
face  is  washed.  I  b'lieve  I'd  rather  have  you  to  teach  us 
than  Miss  Wilcox.  Uncle  Thor  said  you  didn't  know 
enough.  But  I'd  rather  have  a  niggerent  teacher  than  one 
that  purses  her  mouth.  Miss  Wilcox  does,  this  way." 
Miss  Stuart's  smile  broke  into  a  chuckle.  "And  whatever 
you  are,"  concluded  the  judge,  "I  don't  b'lieve  you  could 
be  pursy  !" 

For  the  first  time  in  a  year,  Miss  Stuart  gave  herself  up  to 


32  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

whole-souled  merriment.  The  child  pranced  about,  well 
pleased  with  himself  and  her  —  too  well  pleased. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  willing  to  divert  his  mind,  and  re- 
solving after  this  to  laugh  only  in  the  proper  places,  "  Tell 
me  who  was  it  that  lent  you  the  watch,  and  why  did  he  do  it  ?  " 

"Uncle  Thorley  Prescott  —  the  one  that  found  you. 
He  came  in  while  we  were  at  breakfast  this  morning.  He 
seemed  in  a  very  good  mood.  Often  he's  pretty  cross. 
To-day  he  tossed  me  up  to  the  ceiling  and  bumped  my  head 
quite  hard ;  and  because  I  didn't  cry  hardly  at  all  but  said 
it  would  be  better  if  the  ceiling  was  higher,  he  took  out  his 
watch  and  said  I  could  wear  it  to  school.  But  7  said  I 
didn't  need  to  be  rewarded  for  being  hurt  and  besides  there 
isn't  any  school,  because  of  Thanksgiving ;  so  he  said,  would 
I  do  him  the  honor  to  wear  it  on  this  occasion  because  of  his 
respect  for  me  and  to  help  him  give  thanks  that  he  was  a 
sochated  with  three  genrations  of  perfect  gentlemen.  What 
is  a  genration?  I  think  it  meant  Papa  and  Grandpa  'cause 
they  both  looked  red  an'  pleased.  But  maybe  it  was  only 
to  hear  Uncle  Thor  say  so  much.  They  think  he  doesn't 
talk  enough,  and  Mamma  thinks  so  'specially.  Once  I 
heard  them  say  that  he  gets  out  of  the  habit  at  home ;  and 
Papa  said,  'It's  no  wonder.'  I  asked  why;  but  they  said, 
'Never  mind.'  So  I  began  watching,  and  I  guess  it's  be- 
cause Mrs.  Prescott  talks  so  much  herself.  She  does  talk 
a  lot!" 

"Don't  you  enjoy  hearing  her?" 

"Well,  not  so  very  much.  She  seems  to  jaw  a  good  deal. 
Nobody  jaws  in  this  house ;  but  Sammy  Whiting's  mother 
does.  That's  where  I  learned  the  word ;  but  Mamma  says 
it  isn't  a  very  good  one.  I  don't  see  why,  when  it  means 
what  you  mean  and  no  other  word  does.  Well,  here's 
Mamma  now  with  your  breakfast.  Shall  I  open  the  door  ?  " 

"Please  do,"  said  Jean,  still  chuckling,  her  hands  going 
apprehensively  to  her  erring  hair.  "Good  morning,"  she 


THE   INTRODUCTION  33 

cried,  "your  son  has  been  so  entertaining  that  I  haven't 
even  washed  my  face." 

"She  ast  me  to  come  in;  so  of  course  I  hat  to,"  said 
Danny,  virtuously. 

"  Well,  you  may  go  to  Grandpa  now.  We'll  speak  about 
that  later,"  said  his  mother,  with  a  smile  for  her  guest. 

"7  have  to  come  in  and  plump  the  pillows  because  I  said 
I  would,"  announced  Ruth,  setting  down  the  little  coffee- 
pot she  was  carrying. 

"Never  mind  that,  dear,"  said  Jean,  "I  can  do  them 
myself." 

"Well,  I  know  you  can,"  said  Ruth,  plumping  with  the 
greatest  energy,  "but  it  isn't  every  day  that  we  have  a 
lady  come  clear  from  America.  Gentlemen  come  some- 
times; but  hardly  ever  ladies,  bercept  missionaries.  You 
aren't  a  missionary,  are  you  ?" 

"No,  dear." 

"And  you  aren't  going  to  be?" 

"Heaven  forbid,"  thought  Jean ;  but  she  only  smiled  and 
shook  her  head. 

"Come  Ruth,"  said  Mrs.  Lawrence,  "we  won't  stay  any 
longer  now.  I'll  be  back  later,"  she  added,  "and  see  that 
you  have  all  you  want." 

"Please  don't  trouble  about  me,"  said  Miss  Stuart.  "I 
have  made  you  too  much  work  already;  and  everything 
smells  delicious."  She  made  a  face  of  delight  at  Ruth, 
whose  face  crinkled  until  her  eyes  looked  like  the  thinnest 
kind  of  half  moons  turned  upside  down.  She  kept  her 
head  turned  toward  the  stranger,  as  she  followed  her  mother 
from  the  room,  her  eyes  saying  unmistakably  that  she 
would  far  rather  stay. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Lawrence,"  called  Jean,  "my  breakfast  will 
taste  lots  better,  if  Ruth  is  with  me.  I  suppose  I  mustn't 
ask  for  Danny,  too." 

Mrs.  Lawrence's  eyes  twinkled ;  but  she  shook  her  head. 


34  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Ruth  may  stay,"  she  said,  "if  you'll  send  her  out  the 
moment  she  is  in  the  way." 

"On  those  conditions,  you  may  never  get  her  back," 
laughed  Miss  Stuart.  "Now  you  can  tell  me  all  about 
everything,"  she  added  in  a  confidential  tone  that  made 
Ruth  squirm  with  delight.  "You  know  it  was  dark  when  I 
came  last  night,  and  I  have  no  idea  what  this  house  looks 
like  on  the  outside,  nor  how  many  people  live  in  it,  nor  who 
your  neighbors  are,  nor  anything." 

"We-e-e-1-1,"  said  Ruth,  elated  but  not  overwhelmed  by 
her  new  importance,  "Well,  where  shall  I  begin?"  The 
child  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  glad  that  Danny  had 
put  himself  out  of  the  running.  "If  he  was  here,"  she 
thought,  "I  wouldn't  have  a  chance  to  tell  much  of  anything. 
But  of  course  I'm  sorry  he  was  naughty,  and  besides  I  told 
him  not  to  come  in." 

"Suppose  I  tell  you  first  what  I  know,"  said  Miss  Stuart, 
"and  then  you'll  know  just  how  'niggerent'  I  am.  In  this 
house  live,"  she  closed  her  lips  so  that  something  not  quite 
like  a  dimple  showed  at  each  of  the  corners,  and  her  eyes 
laughed  as  she  began  to  count  on  her  fingers,  "your 
mother,"  that  was  the  forefinger,  "your  father,"  middle 
finger,  "a  young  lady  named  Ruth."  The  child's  face 
crinkled  up  again  more  than  ever,  as  she  gazed  at  the  shining 
ring  that  was  on  the  very  tall  ladylike  finger  that  stood  for 
her.  Only  the  little  finger  remained  for  Danny.  She 
guessed  he  wouldn't  have  liked  that. 

"And  nobody  for  the  thumb?"  asked  Miss  Stuart. 

"Yes,  Grandpa;  but  he's  as  tall  as  Papa." 

"I  remember  !  I  saw  him  last  night.  He's  the  dear  old 
gentleman  with  the  white  beard  —  And  is  he  a  missionary  ?  " 

"Oh  my,  yes  !  He's  been  one  for  ever-unever-unever  — 
I  guess  most  to  Amen." 

"And  he  lives  with  you  all  the  time?  Isn't  there  any 
Grandma  ?" 


THE   INTRODUCTION  35 

i 

"No,  no  other  relations  bercept  in  America.  When  we 
came  back  to  Persia,  there  was  nineteen  to  see  us  off  at  the 
steamer." 

"Then  who  are  Uncle  Thorley  and  Aunt  Kate  ?" 

"We-e-e-1-1,  they're  pertend  relations.  To  keep  off 
homesickness,  Mamma  says.  There's  Aunt  Kate  and 
Uncle  Harry,  —  Uncle  Giant  we  call  him  sometimes,  'cause 
he's  so  big  and  has  a  beard  that  sticks  out  just  like  in  Jack 
the  Giant-Killer.  Their  other  name  is  Franklin." 

"And  they  are  missionaries?" 

"Oh  my,  yes!  Uncle  Harry  is  a  doctor  and  he  has  a 
hospital  out  at  the  College,  and  has  to  cure  so  many  sick 
people  that  Aunt  Kate  says  he  doesn't  know  how  to  eat  any 
more.  But  he's  promised  to  chew  a  great  deal  at  Thanks- 
giving—  that's  to-day — 'cause  Harriet  says  she  won't 
chew  'nless  he  does. " 

"Is  Harriet  his  little  girl ?" 

"Yes,  and  so  is  Edith,  only  she's  bigger  and  she'll  have  to 
go  home  next  year.  She  cries  every  time  anybody  talks 
about  it;  but  Edward  doesn't.  He's  dying  to  go  home. 
He  says  he's  read  every  decent  book  in  the  Station  at  least 
three  times ;  but  Tom's  written  him  that  there's  no  time  to 
read  books  when  you  go  to  college.  I  heard  Edward  read 
the  letter  to  Uncle  Thorley,  and  Uncle  Thorley  laughed  and 
said  there  was  a  good  deal  in  it.  But  at  College  here  they 
all  read  books  like  everything.  Uncle  Thorley  can't  get  'em 
printed  fast  enough ;  and  sometimes  Grandpa  has  to  stay 
up  nights  to  help  him." 

Jean  Stuart  had  been  sitting  up  in  bed  waiting  for  a  chance 
to  get  in  a  word.  It  was  one  of  her  principles  never  to  in- 
terrupt a  child  for  her  own  pleasure.  Now  Ruth  was 
obliged  to  stop  for  breath,  so  Jean  seized  upon  the  instant. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,"  she  said,  "that  your  Uncle 
Thorley  has  anything  to  do  with  missionary  work  ?  " 

"Why,  yes  !     He  pays  the  workmen  and  he  makes  books 


36  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

in  Syriac  and  he  writes  a  paper  called  The  Light  of  tlte 
World  and  he  trains  horses  for  everybody  that  can't  train 
their  own  and  he  can  talk  to  Kurds  better  than  anybody  else 
bercept  Mr.  Freyer;  and  he  can't  talk  half  as  fierce  as 
Uncle  Thorley,  so  it  doesn't  sound  like  a  Kurd  atall." 

"Oh-h-h-h!-  This  Uncle  Thorley,  then,  is  not  the 
same  as  the  Mr.  Prescott  that  came  and  found  me  ?  " 

"Why  yes.  Of  course  he's  the  same.  There's  only  one 
Uncle  Thorley.  He  has  a  father ;  but  he's  just  Mr.  Prescott. 
And  Mrs.  Prescott  isn't  like  an  aunt  atall.  Even  Uncle 
Thorley  just  calls  her  Mrs.,  like  anybody  else,  and  he's  re- 
lated to  her,  but  she  isn't  his  real  mother.  I  wish  Danny 
was  here,"  Ruth  finished,  looking  about  her  helplessly.  "He 
can  'splain  all  those  hard  things." 

"Oh,  can  he?"  said  Jean  Stuart  mischievously.  "Then 
I'll  get  him  to  'splain  Uncle  Thorley.  Are  there  any  more 
Prescotts?" 

"No,  but  Mrs.  Prescott  is  praying  for  Uncle  Thorley  to 
get  a  sooterable  helpmate.  (That's  the  praying  word  for 
wife,  you  know.)  So  I  s'pose  he'll  get  one  pretty  soon.  But 
once  when  she  prayed  it,  he  got  up  and  went  out  of  the  room. 
What  do  you  s'pose  God  thought  of  that  ?  " 

Jean  Stuart  was  lying  back  on  her  pillows  and  wiping  her 
eyes. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.     "Does  Danny?" 

Ruth  was  dreadfully  shocked.  "Oh,  no,"  she  said. 
"Danny  can't  'splain  God.  He's  only  a  little  boy.  Even 
Grandpa  doesn't  know  all  about  Him,  nor  Miss  Oddfellow 
either,  and  she's  most  as  old  as  Grandpa  —  an'  just  as 
good!1' 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  which  Ruth  opened,  ad- 
mitting her  mother. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Lawrence,  "have  you  had  any  chance 
to  eat?" 

"I  never  ate  a  meal  that  tasted  so  good,"  Jean  declared. 


THE   INTRODUCTION  37 

"I  shall  remember  it  all  my  life.  This  is  what  I  call 
luxury." 

A  shadow  passed  over  Mrs.  Lawrence's  face,  as  her  guest 
brought  out  the  last  word. 

"Oh  no,"  she  said.  "Please  don't  think  we're  luxu- 
rious." 

"What  do  you  call  it,  then?"  laughed  Miss  Stuart. 
"Night  before  last  I  was  glad  to  have  a  rubber  blanket  be- 
tween me  and  the  mud  floor ;  and  the  breakfast  I  tried  to 
eat!  Ugh!" 

"  Oh  well,  of  course,  when  you've  just  come  off  the  journey, 
most  anything  clean  seems  nice.  But  you  won't  write  that 
word  home  to  your  church,  will  you  ?  At  least  not  until 
you've  lived  here  a  whole  whiter  ?  " 

"Lived  here  a  whole  winter  !"  cried  Jean  Stuart,  with  a 
start  that  made  a  Castanet  of  every  dish  on  the  tray.  Mrs. 
Lawrence  and  Ruth  caught  it,  as  it  was  sliding  to  the 
floor. 

"You  aren't  expecting  to  go  back  across  the  mountains  at 
this  time  of  year?" 

"No,  but  I'm  going  on  around  the  world  by  the  southern 
route.  You'll  help  me  find  a  maid,  won't  you  ?  And  your 
husband  surely  knows  a  reliable  courier.  I  must  have  an 
American,  at  least  not  an  Oriental." 

Mrs.  Lawrence  smiled,  in  a  way  that  slightly  irritated  her 
guest.  "Suppose  we  discuss  all  that  later,"  she  said. 
"It's  time  I  was  getting  the  children  ready  for  the  little 
English  service  which  is  a  luxury,  if  you  please.  I  knew 
you  were  too  tired  to  go,  so  I  wouldn't  speak  of  it  before. 
But  would  you  feel  able  to  go  out  later  to  the  College  ?  It's 
three  miles  away,  just  outside  the  city  walls.  The  Hos- 
pital is  there  too;  and  Mrs.  Franklin,  the  wife  of  our 
doctor,  is  giving  the  dinner  at  two  o'clock.  We'd  all  love 
to  have  you  with  us." 

"But  why  should  Mrs.  Franklin  ask  me  to  her  dinner? 


38  THE    GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

You  are  all  too  good.     I'll  do  just  what  will  cause  you  the 
least  inconvenience." 

"Oh,"  cried  Mrs.  Lawrence,  "  do  you  realize  what  it  is  to 
see  some  one  from  America  when  it's  seven  years  more  until 
your  furlough  comes  again  ?  Why,  one  look  at  your  sleeves 
is  worth  a  whole  week  of  Thanksgiving  dinners  !" 


CHAPTER  VH 

THANKSGIVING  DINNER 

Miss  JEAN  STUART  of  New  York  and  Bar  Harbor  chuckled 
more  than  once,  in  a  way  which  the  word  chuckle  is  not  fine 
enough  to  describe.  She  was  getting  ready  to  dine  in  the 
middle  of  the  day  with  sixteen  missionaries  and  their  nine 
children,  and  she  could  find  in  her  trunks  no  gown  with 
sleeves  adequate  to  the  occasion.  She  wished  she  had  not 
countermanded  that  last  order  of  hers  in  Paris.  Then  she 
realized  that  it  was  months  since  she  had  taken  such  an 
interest  in  her  clothes.  The  gown  she  finally  chose  was 
black,  like  all  the  others  she  was  wearing ;  but  it  was  a  kind 
of  black  she  had  not  intended  to  put  on  until  a  little  later. 
She  was  ready  before  the  Lawrences  came  home  from  the 
service,  which  they  had  said  would  be  held  at  the  Girls' 
Seminary ;  but  her  fur-lined  coat  was  warm,  so  rather 
than  linger  in  the  little  sitting-room  which  she  had  found 
on  going  through  Dr.  Lawrence's  doorway,  she  opened  the 
front  door  and  stepped  out  into  the  golden  sunshine.  The 
air  felt  as  if  it  would  soon  be  time  to  pick  violets.  The 
driveway  in  front  of  the  house  was  as  bare  as  if  yesterday's 
snow  had  fallen  in  a  dream.  Patches  of  scanty  grass  were 
still  green ;  and  in  garden  beds  on  either  side  of  the  Law- 
rence steps  were  chrysanthemum  stalks  with  a  few  blos- 
soms which  had  escaped  being  picked  for  the  Thanksgiving 
centerpiece. 

Jean  Stuart  turned  for  a  look  at  the  house  to  which  fate 
had  brought  her.  It  was  three  stories  high,  built  of  bricks  of 
dried  mud,  but  in  a  substantial  way  that  made  it  look  very 
different  from  the  Persian  houses  she  had  seen.  The  roof 

39 


40  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

was  flat,  and  a  railing  at  the  edge  showed  it  was  often  in  use. 
The  Lawrence  house  was  between  two  other  houses  very 
much  like  it  and  built  on  a  common  foundation.  They 
could  not  be  called  ugly,  for  they  gave  an  impression  of  simple 
comfort ;  but  even  a  real  estate  agent  would  have  hesitated 
to  describe  them  as  commodious,  much  less  palatial. 

Jean  turned,  and  her  eye  followed  the  driveway  to  the  gate. 
The  wall  was  there  as  she  remembered  it,  very  high,  but  not 
one  bit  too  high,  she  thought,  shuddering  a  little.  Near  it 
was  a  building  larger  than  all  three  houses.  She  thought 
Dan  Lawrence  must  have  been  wailing  there  when  they 
had  arrived  last  night,  and  she  remembered  he  had  spoken 
of  waiting  in  his  friend's  office. 

"I'll  wager  he  likes  training  horses,"  she  thought,  "better 
than  editing  The  Light  of  the  World.  I  suppose  that's 
a  religious  paper.  Oh,  my  eye !  He's  no  more  fitted  to 
write  for  it  than  I  am ;  but  maybe  he  only  stands  over  the 
printers  while  they  set  up  the  type.  I  guess  he  could  make 
most  anything  work,  if  he  wanted  to.  I  wonder  if  'God 
could  'splain'  his  being  a  missionary.  Jeanie,  if  you  sit 
next  him  at  dinner  to-day,  I  dare  you  to  ask  him." 

A  little  sound  of  amusement  broke  from  her  as  she  picked 
up  her  skirts  and  went  to  peep  around  the  corner  of  the 
houses.  Several  groups  of  people  were  just  coming  down 
the  steps  of  the  large  building  at  the  other  end  of  the  Com- 
pound. 

"Oh  my  !  "  she  said,  "the  missionaries  have  finished  their 
luxury.  If  they  consider  a  church  service  the  chief  luxury 
of  Thanksgiving  Day,  what  will  the  dinner  be  like  ?  Well, 
I  ate  enough  for  breakfast  anyway ;  and  I'm  not  likely  to 
write  to  my  church." 

Out  of  the  nearest  group,  a  tall,  slender  girl  with  light 
hair  and  earnest  eyes,  ran  back  to  find  Margaret  Lawrence, 
who  was  lingering  in  the  doorway  of  Faith  Seminary. 

"  Is  that  Miss  Stuart  ?  "  demanded  the  girl  in  a  penetrating 


THANKSGIVING   DINNER  41 

whisper.  "Isn't  she  stunning  ?  And  that  hat  is  absolutely 
the  newest  thing  I've  seen  since  I  left  New  York.  Would 
you  dare  ask  her  if  it  came  from  Paris?" 

Mrs.  Lawrence  laughed.  "  Get  Ruth  to  ask,  if  you  must 
know,"  she  said.  "Miss  Stuart  has  fascinated  both  the 
children,  and  I  believe  she'd  tell  them  what  she  might  not  let 
out  to  us." 

"Has  she  vouchsafed  to  explain  how  she  happened  to  be 
stranded  at  Kazu  with  only  a  Moslem  courier?" 

The  voice  was  the  voice  of  Miss  Wilhelmina  Trench,  who 
had  not  left  behind  her  in  Boston  her  hereditary  ideas  of 
propriety. 

"If  she  happens  to  be  one  of  the  Jonathan  Stuarts,"  said 
another  voice  that  was  kindly  as  well  as  brusque,  "she'll 
never  explain  anything.  Her  family  don't  have  to." 

A  snort  from  behind  them  made  more  than  one  of  the 
ladies  jump. 

"  If  I  am  not  very  much  mistaken,"  said  a  magisterial  voice, 
"this  ambiguous  young  person  will  explain  herself  to  us  all, 
before  the  day  is  over,  unless,"  the  speaker's  hand  went  up  to 
adjust  her  eye-glasses  and  succeeded  in  making  them  sit  even 
more  crookedly  on  her  very  inconvenient  nose,  "unless  her 
conduct  should  prove  to  be  inexplicable.  I  very  much 
regret,"  she  added,  "that  any  Missionary  should  consider 
this  a  moment  for  expatiating  on  the  stranger's  hat."  Mrs. 
Prescott,  whose  enunciation  of  the  word  Missionary  showed 
that  she  spelled  it  always  with  a  capital,  fixed  her  august 
regard  on  the  spot  where  the  earnest-eyed  Amy  Lea  had 
stood ;  but  the  girl  had  managed  to  slip  away  and  was  at 
that  very  moment  watching  that  newest  of  hats,  as  its 
owner  took  her  place  in  the  Lawrence  buckboard. 

"If  she  finds  out  that  I've  been  here  less  than  a  year," 
thought  Amy,  "she'll  know  that  this  dress  wasn't  the  latest 
fashion  even  then.  Oh  well,  I  suppose  a  real  missionary 
wouldn't  mind." 


42  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

But  perhaps  more  than  one  real  missionary  did  mind  a 
little  bit.  Mrs.  Whiting's  first  thought  was  of  Sammy's 
shoes,  which  really  were  a  disgrace ;  and  Jane's  dress  was 
scandalously  short ;  but  Caroline  in  her  embroidered  white 
lawn  would  look  sweet  enough  to  make  up  for  anything. 
She  did  wish  George  wouldn't  persist  in  making  that  dread- 
fully old-fashioned  bow ;  but  there  were  things  you  could  not 
teach  a  husband,  no  matter  how  faithfully  you  kept  at 
him. 

At  the  dinner  table  Miss  Stuart  found  herself  in  the  seat  of 
honor  between  Dr.  Franklin  and  Thorley  Prescott.  The 
quaintest  of  elderly  ladies,  in  a  costume  that  suggested  the 
days  of  the  Civil  War,  sat  opposite  her  and  nodded  benig- 
nantly  when  she  was  introduced  as  Miss  Oddfellow,  Prin- 
cipal of  Faith  Seminary.  Jean  Stuart  found  it  hard  to  take 
her  eyes  from  the  little  lady,  until  she  espied  through  a  wide 
archway  another  dinner  table  where  nine  children  were 
quietly  sitting.  A  question  was  just  coming  off  her  tongue, 
when  Prescott  cleared  his  throat  and  she  discovered  that 
every  head  was  bowed  but  his  and  her  own.  In  a  moment 
Dr.  Lawrence  was  "asking  a  blessing." 

Jean  Stuart  did  not  trust  herself  to  speak  until  every  one 
else  had  begun.  She  had  to  chat  a  little  with  her  host  be- 
fore there  was  a  chance  to  address  Thorley  Prescott.  Then 
she  murmured :  — 

"Thank  you  for  another  rescue.  What  would  have 
happened,  if  I  had  talked  out  loud?" 

"Don't  be  too  sure  that  nothing  will  happen  now.  You 
kept  your  eyes  open." 

"Oh,  was  that  wrong?  I  see  I'll  have  to  get  you  to  tell 
me  lots  of  things." 

"Me!"  Thorley  Prescott  gave  his  shortest,  most  dis- 
agreeable laugh. 

"Yes,  you.  It's  a  pity  if  one  black  sheep  can't  stand  by 
another." 


THANKSGIVING   DINNER  43 

"Oh,  they've  talked  about  me  already,  have  they?" 

"Do  you  suppose  I  would  allow  any  one  else  to  call  you 
names  in  my  hearing  ?  If  my  eyes  were  open,  what  about 
yours?" 

He  laughed  with  a  different  ring  this  time. 

Miss  Oddfellow  was  speaking  across  the  table.  "I  ven- 
ture to  say,  Miss  Stuart,  that  in  your  home  muskmelons  are 
hardly  palatable  at  Thanksgiving." 

"You  are  right,  Miss  Oddfellow,"  said  Jean,  with  the 
deference  which  had  won  her  so  many  elderly  friends,  "and 
this  melon  is  the  most  delicious  I  ever  ate.  How  do  you 
manage  to  keep  them  ?  " 

"  It  is  due  to  our  dry  climate,"  said  Miss  Oddfellow,  much 
gratified.  "Even  grapes  can  be  kept  until  March." 

"But  here  is  what  delights  us  more  than  all  the  melons  in 
Persia,"  said  Dr.  Franklin,  as  the  servant  placed  before 
Miss  Stuart  a  plate  of  milky  soup  with  one  small  oyster 
floating  in  it.  "  Where  did  you  get  'em,  my  dear  ?"  he  called 
to  his  wife. 

"Mrs.  Lawrence's  father  sent  them  out  last  summer," 
returned  Mrs.  Franklin,  beaming  at  him  from  her  end  of 
the  table.  Then  with  a  little  turn  of  the  head,  she  made  the 
radiance  fall  on  Jean  Stuart.  "And  you  see,"  she  added, 
"that  for  a  long  time  a  welcome  has  been  provided  for  our 
guest  because  the  can  held  exactly  twenty-six  oysters." 

"Had  it  held  but  twenty-five,  Mrs.  Franklin,  I  am  sure 
you  and  Mrs.  Lawrence  are  perfectly  capable  of  creating 
an  oyster  if  it  is  necessary  for  the  comfort  of  a  guest.  I 
shall  drink  to  you  in  this  broth.  Here's  to  the  hospitality 
of  Muramna.  May  it  never  grow  less,  for  greater  it  could 
not  be!" 

She  raised  her  spoon  to  her  lips,  smiling  at  Mrs.  Franklin 
and  Mrs.  Lawrence,  who  sat  next  to  each  other. 

"Let  us  make  that  a  rising  toast,"  said  a  little  man  who 
sat  at  Mrs.  Franklin's  right. 


44  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

A  young  fellow  on  the  same  side  of  the  table  jumped  to 
his  feet. 

"Good  plan  !  "  he  cried.  "You  and  I  will  click  plates, 
Mr.  Freyer.  No  such  cracker-jack  dinners  to  be  gotten 
in  our  little  mountain  home,  eh?" 

"These  gentlemen,  Mr.  Freyer  and  young  Mr.  Standish," 
explained  Miss  Oddfellow,  "are  stationed  in  the  Mountains. 
Their  departure  has  been  delayed  this  autumn ;  so  Muramna 
has  the  pleasure  of  entertaining  them." 

"What  are  you  doing,  Papa ?"  called  an  astonished  voice 
from  the  smaller  table,  as  Mr.  Freyer  and  young  Standish 
actually  clicked  their  soup  plates  together,  after  which 
Standish  capped  the  climax  by  drinking  from  his. 

"Oh,  Mary,"  said  her  father,  "you  should  be  participat- 
ing in  this  toast." 

"Indeed  she  should  not,"  shouted  Dr.  Franklin.  "Mary 
belongs  to  us  and  I'll  bet  she  helped  make  the  soup.  She 
stays  with  us  because  her  father  couldn't  possibly  keep  her 
in  the  Kurdish  Mountains.  I  don't  know  what  my  Edith 
would  do  without  her,"  he  added  to  Miss  Stuart. 

Now  the  doctor's  man  strutted  into  the  room  bearing  a 
turkey  on  an  immense  platter.  He  was  followed  by  a  Nes- 
torian  maid  with  a  smaller  bird  which  she  took  to  the  chil- 
dren's table. 

"I  thought  all  the  turkeys  had  fallen  down  the  well," 
announced  Dr.  Franklin.  "How  did  you  manage  to  resur- 
rect this  monster  ?  Well,  if  that  isn't  cranberry  sauce  !  In 
the  name  of  the  Prophet  Figs,  where  did  that  come  from  ?  " 

Mrs.  Whiting  bridled. 

"Why  do  you  give  us  away,  Doctor?"  said  Thorley 
Prescott.  "Miss  Stuart  sees  nothing  singular  —  unless  it's 
soup  with  one  oyster." 

"If  she  stops  with  us  as  long  as  we  hope  she  will,"  said 
Dr.  Lawrence,  who  sat  opposite  Thorley,  "Miss  Stuart  will 
find  that  we  do  not  fare  sumptuously  every  day." 


THANKSGIVING    DINNER  45 

During  this  speech,  Dr.  Franklin  had  performed  his  whole 
duty  of  laughing  at  Thorley's  joke ;  but  he  was,  after  all, 
less  concerned  with  the  talk  of  his  neighbors  than  with  the 
origin  of  the  cranberry  sauce. 

"My  dear,"  he  shouted,  "if  you  don't  tell  me  about  these 
cranberries,  I'll  give  you  the  best  piece  of  turkey  on  the 
platter." 

"Good  for  you,  Pa,"  called  Edward  from  the  other  room. 
"Give  it  to  her  anyway." 

"What  are  you  doing,  my  son?"  asked  the  doctor,  cran- 
ing his  neck  to  look  at  the  boy,  who,  brandishing  a  smaller 
knife  over  a  smaller  turkey,  was  in  every  look  and  gesture 
an  image  of  his  father. 

"Following  your  example,  sir,"  he  replied,  with  a  flourish 
of  his  knife  that  nearly  sent  the  bird  off  its  platter. 

"Careful,  sonny,"  smiled  his  mother.  "I  told  him  he 
might  try  to  carve,  Harry,  and  he  does  pretty  well  when  no 
one  is  looking.  The  cranberries  are  from  Mrs.  Whiting. 
You  must  ask  her  how  they  came  and  thank  her  for  giving 
them  all  to  this  dinner." 

"I  do  indeed  thank  Mrs.  Whiting,"  said  the  doctor,  bow- 
ing to  the  lady  who  sat  not  far  away,  between  Dr.  Lawrence 
and  Roger  Standish.  Miss  Stuart  also  smiled  across  the 
table  as  she  helped  herself  to  a  little  piece  of  the  jelly.  She 
hated  to  eat  her  full  share  of  these  delicacies,  though  they 
tasted  so  good. 

"How  did  you  ever  get  it  here,  Mrs.  Whiting?"  she  said, 
realizing  in  a  flash  that  this  was  the  person  who  would  con- 
sider her  very  plain.  "Your  muleteers  must  have  been 
different  from  mine."  There  was  mischief  in  the  smile 
with  which  she  finished. 

Mrs.  Whiting,  looking  radiant,  hastily  revised  her  first 
opinion  of  the  stranger,  as  she  said,  "  My  mother  packed  the 
jars  carefully  in  a  small  trunk ;  and  Mr.  Standish  was  kind 
enough  to  bring  it  out."  She  smiled  brightly  at  the  young 


46  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

man  who  was  talking  with  Miss  Lea  and  missed  both  the 
compliment  and  the  smile. 

"Either  your  mother  or  Mr.  Standish  is  a  genius,"  said 
Miss  Stuart.  Standish  looked  up  suddenly  and  wished  he 
had  been  paying  attention.  "My  things  were  all  shaken 
into  jelly,  but  not  such  jelly  as  this." 

While  Mrs.  Whiting,  leaning  happily  across  the  table 
toward  her  husband  gave  "  George"  the  benefit  of  this  re- 
mark, Thorley  Prescott  said  to  Miss  Stuart :  — 

"Your  supply  of  taffy,  though  brittle,  has  stood  the  jour- 
ney remarkably  well.  Isn't  it  lucky?" 

"I  don't  wonder  you  are  envious." 

"Envious?" 

"You  ought  to  be,  if  you  are  not.  I  have  yet  to  hear  you 
make  one  pleasant  remark."  The  look  she  gave  him  robbed 
her  words  of  sting ;  and  he  laughed  more  heartily  than  she 
had  yet  heard  him. 

Dr.  Franklin  determined  to  find  out  for  himself  what  this 
stranger  was  that  she  could  make  Thorley  Prescott  laugh,  at 
a  Station  dinner.  He  himself  was  soon  laughing  to  his 
heart's  content;  and  the  fun  was  such  that  it  extended 
down  the  other  side  of  the  table  as  far  as  Amy  Lea ;  but 
Thorley  Prescott  took  no  further  part  in  it.  His  right-hand 
neighbor,  Miss  Wilhelmina  Trench  of  Boston,  after  one 
look  at  his  face,  decided  that  it  was  not  her  duty  to  become 
the  butt  of  his  ill  humor;  so  she  turned  back  to  George 
Whiting  with  a  half  smile  on  her  face  that  made  George's 
wife  decide  to  tell  her  that  lavendar  was  a  color  which  should 
not  be  worn  between  thirty  and  sixty. 

After  a  story  of  Jean  Stuart's  had  made  mention  of 
Central  Park,  Miss  Oddfellow,  with  eagerness  in  her  thin 
old  voice  begged  pardon,  but  was  it  possible  that  in  the 
immensity  of  the  metropolis  Miss  Stuart  might  be  ac- 
quainted with  Dr.  Von  Barnhelm,  the  famous  archaeologist 
and  traveller. 


THANKSGIVING   DINNER  47 

Oh  yes,  Miss  Stuart  had  met  him  often. 

Dr.  Franklin  was  getting  more  and  more  bewildered. 
Mrs.  Prescott  had  told  him  before  dinner  that  her  stepson 
had  found  the  stranger  positively  illiterate. 

"You  knew  him  socially,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "not  be- 
cause you  are  interested  in  archaeology?" 

"Well,  I  have  yet  to  see  a  cuneiform  inscription  more 
interesting  than  the  personality  of  Mr.  Von  Barnhelm." 

Thorley  Prescott's  voice  broke  in, — 

"I  suppose  it  was  he  who  told  you  about  the  hotels  of 
Muramna." 

"Hotels  nothing  ! "  said  Dr.  Franklin.  "He  stayed  at  the 
Lawrence's." 

To  Thorley's  intense  surprise  the  little  sound  which  was 
not  a  chuckle  became  audible,  though  smothered  by  Miss 
Stuart's  lips. 

"Was  it  from  Von  Barnhelm  that  you  heard  of  us?" 
asked  Dr.  Franklin.  "What  do  you  say,  Thorley,  shall  we 
write  him  a  round-robin  of  thanks  ?  " 

"Better  not,"  said  Miss  Stuart.  "I  didn't  see  him  after 
he  came  back  from  here.  Had  I  been  able  to  get  his  advice, 
my  journey  would  have  been  less  dangerous,  though  perhaps 
not  so  interesting." 

Dr.  Franklin  was  on  the  point  of  asking  another  question, 
when  Miss  Oddfellow  took  up  her  theme. 

"Dr.  Von  Barnhelm  is  a  very  agreeable  man,"  she  said, 
"and  full  of  delightful  information." 

"Ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  doctor  in  a  way  that  made  the 
whole  table  stop  to  listen.  "He  didn't  look  very  learned 
when  he  got  here  in  the  middle  of  a  blizzard  with  his  face 
cracked  open  by  the  snow  and  his  silk  hat  tied  to  the  pommel 
of  his  saddle.  Ha,  ha,  —  ha,  ha,  —  nor  after  he  had  been 
plucked  by  that  native  barber,  eh,  Mrs.  Lawrence?" 

"No  doubt  he  is  more  full  of  information  now  than  when 
he  first  came  among  us,"  admitted  Dr.  Lawrence,  with  his 


48  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

charming  smile.  "He  was  on  his  way  to  Behistun  where 
he  spent  two  days  and  a  night  on  that  narrow  ledge  under  the 
sculptures.  It  was  a  daring  act,  and  justified  only  by  the 
importance  of  the  discoveries  he  made.  We  Americans  may 
well  be  proud  of  him." 

"He  knows  more  than  any  man  I  ever  saw."  It  was 
young  Roger  Standish  who  spoke.  "I  studied  Syriac  under 
him  at  the  University,  and  in  summer  school  he  teaches  Old 
English.  I  tell  you  he's  a  cracker-jack.  I  wish  I  could  ask 
him  about  this  seal  I  got  in  the  Mountains."  He  touched 
his  breast  pocket  as  he  spoke  and  leaned  forward.  "You've 
seen  it,  Dr.  Lawrence.  How  about  you,  Dr.  Franklin  ?  " 

"I'd  like  to,"  said  the  doctor. 

Standish,  with  a  glance  at  Mrs.  Franklin,  went  around 
the  table  and  handed  the  seal  to  Dr.  Franklin.  The  doctor 
looked  at  it  and  shook  his  head.  He  passed  it  to  Miss  Stuart, 
who  examined  it  carefully  and  said  it  was  very  interesting. 
Then  Miss  Oddfellow  produced  a  small  magnifying-glass 
and  went  thoroughly  into  the  matter,  discussing  the  engrav- 
ing, point  by  point,  with  her  left-hand  neighbor,  Dr.  Law- 
rence. She  had  an  idea  that  the  seal  was  of  the  Sassanian 
period ;  but  Dr.  Lawrence  thought  it  was  older  than  that, 
probably  Achaemenian.  Standish  was  questioned  as  to 
where  he  had  found  it,  and  while  he  was  telling  what  he  knew, 
the  stone  passed  from  hand  to  hand  until  it  had  gone  around 
the  table  and  reached  Thorley  Prescott.  Standish  had  just 
finished  his  account  and  the  whole  company  was  quiet,  when 
Prescott  held  the  stone  out  to  Miss  Stuart,  saying :  — 

"I  suppose  you  know  all  about  it." 

Every  one  heard  him,  and  no  one  could  help  waiting  to 
hear  what  Miss  Stuart  would  answer.  She  took  the  seal 
and  looked  at  it  again,  closely. 

Margaret  Lawrence  at  her  end  of  the  table  tried  to  be 
polite  and  started  a  conversation ;  but  even  Mrs.  Franklin 
would  not  help  her  keep  it  up.  Now  Miss  Stuart  borrowed 


THANKSGIVING   DINNER  49 

Miss  Oddfellow's  magnif ying-glass  and  scrutinized  the  stone. 
Mrs.  Franklin  kept  her  shining  eyes  on  Thorley  Prescott's 
face ;  but  every  other  eye  was  on  Miss  Stuart.  At  last  she 
handed  the  glass  to  Miss  Oddfellow,  and  placing  the  seal  in 
Thorley 's  hand,  said  casually  — 

"There  is  a  stone  very  much  like  this  in  the  British 
Museum.  Professor  Arnold  calls  that  Sassanian.  This  is  a 
far  more  perfect  specimen  and  does  not  look  as  old ;  but 
the  head  dress,  which  Professor  Arnold  considers  the  deter- 
mining point,  is  identical  in  both." 

A  little  murmur  of  applause  went  round  the  table.  Miss 
Oddfellow's  plain  old  face  beamed  with  pride,  not  at  the  jus- 
tification of  her  own  idea,  but  because  the  whole  Station  had 
been  set  right  by  the  intelligence  of  a  woman.  Miss  Odd- 
fellow had  been  herself  a  favorite  pupil  of  Mary  Lyon. 

Then  Thorley  Prescott  disgraced  himself.  Without  heat, 
but  with  great  decision,  he  remarked,  — 

"I  do  hate  an  intellectual  woman." 

Every  one  gasped,  excepting  Miss  Stuart.  No  one  could 
think  of  anything  to  say.  Mrs.  Franklin's  cheeks  flushed 
as  she  continued  to  gaze  at  Thorley ;  and  the  men  all  glared 
at  him  as  if  they  would  like  him  to  know  the  reason  why. 
Only  the  stranger  guest  remained  perfectly  at  her  ease.  She 
spoke  at  once,  but  without  any  hurry. 

"Oh,  then  you  would  agree  with  Jane  Austen."  Her  air 
of  impersonal  interest  was  belied  only  by  her  dancing  eyes, 
and  she  looked  straight  into  the  dogged  face  of  Thorley 
Prescott. 

As  she  looked,  his  expression  changed ;  and  it  was  almost 
with  eagerness  that  he  asked,  — 

"How  so?" 

"Jane  Austen  says,  you  remember,  that  if  a  woman  knows 
anything,  it  should  be  the  effort  of  her  life  to  conceal  it." 

There  was  a  storm  of  laughter.  Roger  Standish,  followed 
by  one  or  two  others,  went  so  far  as  to  clap  his  hands. 


50  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Thorley  Prescott  looked  around  at  his  colleagues  with  a 
triumphant  smile  that  surprised  them  almost  into  silence. 
Then  Miss  Stuart  turned  demurely  to  her  host. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "I  believe  this  is  strawberry  ice 
cream.  Have  you  kept  these  strawberries  since  June,  or 
is  Persia  a  tropical  country  after  all?  I'm  sure  I  always 
thought  so,  until  I  was  caught  in  that  snow-storm." 


CHAPTER  VIH 

EXPLANATIONS   GIVEN 

IT  was  getting  dark.  The  children  had  said  their  "pieces " 
and  played  their  "pieces."  Roger  Standish  had  done  his 
"stunts,"  which  were  received  with  great  applause  because 
they  were  full  of  last  winter's  slang,  being  therefore  of  thrill- 
ing interest  to  his  eager  but  benighted  colleagues.  Then, 
because  Thorley  Prescott  could  make  the  most  noise  without 
hurting  the  very  infirm  old  piano,  he  played  with  unusual 
geniality  for  a  final  game  of  "Going  to  Jerusalem,"  after 
which  there  began  to  be  talk  of  hats  and  coats. 

Jean  Stuart  was  approached  by  a  square  little  lady  with 
very  bright  eyes,  abnormally  smooth  hair,  and  a  voice  that 
was  brusque  but  not  unkindly.  This  was  Dr.  Flora  Mac- 
Coll,  the  woman  physician. 

"You're  to  spend  the  night  with  me,"  said  the  little  lady, 
"so  get  your  things  and  come  along;  for  I  have  to  make 
rounds  before  tea.  Yes,  Margaret  Lawrence  knows  it. 
She  and  the  children  are  staying  at  Stella  Whiting's." 

"Isn't  anybody  going  back  to  the  city?"  asked  Jean. 

"Only  the  men,  and  they  shouldn't;  but,  poor  things,  a 
taste  of  danger  is  their  only  social  excitement." 

"Dangerous  to  go  back  to  the  city  now?  Why,  it's 
hardly  dark.  What  harm  could  come  to  five  or  six  men 
riding  together  ?  " 

"Get  your  things  and  come  along,"  laughed  the  doctor. 
"I  see  my  evening's  work  is  cut  out  for  me." 

The  doctor's  rooms  were  adjacent  to  the  Woman's  Hos- 
pital. Jean  found  them  bare,  though  not  devoid  of  interest. 

51 


52  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

There  was  a  beautiful  old  rug  on  the  mud  floor  of  the  sitting- 
room.  One  or  two  good  engravings  emphasized  the  white- 
ness of  the  high  walls.  Books  and  magazines  were  scattered 
about.  The  New  York  Tribune  for  October  twentieth,  lay 
just  under  the  lamp;  and  Jean  fell  upon  it  very  much  as 
Sammy  Whiting  had  fallen  on  the  drumstick  of  the  turkey. 
But  even  the  advertisements  made  her  homesick ;  and  she 
looked  about  presently  for  something  that  would  help  her 
swallow  the  lump  in  her  throat.  In  an  obscure  corner  she 
found  a  cheap  little  book-case  of  reddish  wood,  that  had  been 
fitted  with  awkward  glass  doors.  It  was  partly  filled  with 
old  books  in  leather  bindings.  Jean  Stuart  opened  the  book- 
case and  drew  out  a  book  at  random.  Then  she  plumped 
herself  down  on  the  bare  floor,  and  pulling  out  volume  after 
volume,  forgot  everything  else  in  the  world. 

A  laugh  from  the  doorway  roused  her. 

"Aha,"  cried  the  doctor's  voice.  "I  thought  I  could 
trust  you  to  find  'em.  Nice  old  fellows,  aren't  they?" 

"The  best  of  company,"  Jean  agreed.  "But  you'd 
better  lock  them  up  until  I  leave  Muramna.  Here's  a  vol- 
ume I've  been  hunting  from  London  to  San  Francisco." 
She  held  up  a  thin  little  book  bound  in  green  Morocco. 

"What'll  you  give  me  for  it?"  asked  the  doctor  laugh- 
ingly. 

"Anything  you  want,"  said  Jean.  "My  agent  at  Chris- 
tie's almost  got  it  for  me ;  but  at  the  last  minute  he  let  an 
English  Earl  outbid  him.  He'll  never  buy  for  me  again." 

"And  you  would  have  paid  more  than  the  Earl?" 

" Of  course  I  would.    He  got  it  for  only  fifty-one  pounds." 

"  Fifty-one  pounds !  Good  gracious,  it  isn't  worth  all 
that?" 

"Of  course  it  is." 

"  But  it's  just  an  odd  volume." 

Compleat  Angler,'  First  Edition,  and  it  fills  out  my  set. 
Oh,  well,  I  suppose  I  can  live  without  it." 


EXPLANATIONS   GIVEN  53 

"Are  any  of  these  other  books  worth  as  much  as  that?" 
The  doctor  spoke  with  awe,  and  as  if  she  were  not  very 
well  pleased. 

"I  haven't  looked  at  them  carefully  and  I'm  not  an  ex- 
pert ;  but  if  they  were  mine  and  any  one  offered  me  three 
thousand  dollars  for  the  collection  I'd  laugh  in  his  face." 

"Well,  they're  not  for  sale,"  snapped  the  doctor. 

Jean  flushed  and  began  putting  back  the  volumes,  as  if 
they  burned  her  fingers. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  rising  haughtily.  "I 
understood  you  to  ask  about  their  value." 

"Tut,  tut,"  said  the  doctor.  " It's  myself  I'm  disgruntled 
at.  Come  and  help  me  get  tea." 

"Now,  my  dear,"  said  Dr.  MacColl,  when  they  had  eaten 
their  frugal  supper,  "let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice." 

"Must  you?"  said  Jean.  "Shall  I  like  it  better  than 
Mrs.  Prescott's?" 

"How  rude  she  was,  to  be  sure,"  admitted  the  doctor, 
"and  I  didn't  blame  you  for  refusing  to  satisfy  her.  Just 
the  same  it  would  have  been  better  to  put  your  pride  in  your 
pocket  and  explain  yourself  a  little.  After  all,  though  we 
live  out  of  the  world,  we  have  our  traditions.  The  fact,  for 
instance,  that  your  grandfather  was  Jonathan  Stuart,  would 
go  a  long  way  with  Willie  Trench." 

"But  how  do  you  know?"  cried  Jean,  opening  her  eyes 
very  wide. 

"The  Stuart  features,  my  dear." 

Dr.  MacColl  went  over  to  her  desk  and  picked  up  an  old 
daguerrotype.  Jean  turned  it  until  the  light  fell  on  two 
stiff  young  men  standing  side  by  side,  one  tall  and  distin- 
guished, the  other  short  and  square. 

"My  father,"  said  Dr.  MacColl,  "and  your  grandfather. 
Nice,  isn't  it?" 

Jean  put  her  hands  on  the  little  doctor's  shoulders. 
"  That  makes  me  feel  at  home,"  she  said. 


54 


THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 


Dr.  MacColl  patted  the  slender  fingers.  "And  now," 
she  demanded  briskly,  "I  have  just  one  question  to  ask 
you.  Where  was  your  Aunt  Cordelia  when  you  started  off 
on  this  wild-goose  chase?" 

Jean  threw  back  her  head  with  a  laugh  so  musical  that  the 
doctor  had  to  join. 

"By  great  good  luck,  my  Aunt  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantic.  If  she  had  been  with  me,  I  should  have  had  to 
bring  her  along,  and  I  doubt  whether  she  would  have  liked 
the  Hadji." 

The  doctor  spoke  now  very  soberly.  "I  shall  take  the 
liberty  of  writing  Mrs.  Craven  to  assure  her  of  your  safety 
and  to  promise  that  we'll  look  after  you.  It  makes  me  shud- 
der to  think  of  the  danger  you  were  in." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  liked  it?  You  need  promise  nothing 
in  my  behalf.  I  shall  be  cautious  enough  after  this ;  and  I 
will  not  have  my  Aunt  disturbed  by  a  highly  colored  account 
of  my  adventures." 

The  doctor  chuckled.  "Not  much  room  for  coloring 
matter  in  a  page  of  typewriting.  Did  your  cousin  Mary 
live  to  grow  up  ?  " 

They  talked  for  some  time  about  the  Stuart  family. 
Jean  Stuart,  it  seemed,  was  now  alone  in  the  world,  except 
for  one  great-aunt,  who  was  married  but  had  no  children 
living.  Her  father  had  died  some  time  before.  Her  one 
sister,  Delia,  had  outlived  him  only  a  few  years ;  and  Delia's 
little  girl,  Mary,  whom  Jean  had  loved  more  than  all  the 
rest  of  the  world,  had  died  of  croup,  not  more  than  two 
months  ago.  When  the  news  reached  her,  Jean  had  been  in 
Paris,  and  instead  of  feeling  moved  to  go  home,  she  had 
determined  to  start  at  once  for  some  place  that  should  be 
perfectly  new  and  strange.  It  happened  that  she  was  with 
her  friends,  Professor  Arnold  and  his  wife;  and  they  had 
begged  her  to  share  their  journey  around  the  world. 

So  far  Jean's  story  had  been  fragmentary.    A  fact  here 


EXPLANATIONS   GIVEN  55 

and  there  had  led  the  doctor  to  infer  more  than  she  was 
told.  Jean's  expression  as  she  spoke  of  the  child's  death 
made  it  impossible  to  ask  why  the  two  that  loved  each  other 
so  well,  had  been  separated  at  the  end.  The  doctor  saw 
clearly  that  great  bitterness  was  mingled  with  Jean's  sorrow 
and  that  nothing  could  be  said  now  to  comfort  her. 

"Well,"  she  inquired  briskly,  "what  became  of  the  Ar- 
nolds ?  You  started  out  with  'em  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean,  "and  while  I  was  with  them  everything 
was  perfect.  We  had  with  us  a  Greek  courier  named  Anas- 
tasi  and  his  French  wife  Rosalie.  They  made  us  perfectly 
comfortable  and  knew  their  business  so  thoroughly  that 
we  had  no  alarms  about  anything.  But  when  we  reached 
Tiflis,  Mrs.  Arnold  found  a  telegram  from  home,  which  made 
her  determine  not  to  go  farther.  It  was  about  one  of  the 
children ;  and  she  fell  into  such  a  state  of  mind  that  her 
husband  could  not  allow  her  to  return  alone  nor  with  me." 

"Why  didn't  you  go  back  with  'em?" 

"Well,  I  know  it  was  silly;  but  I  was  fascinated  by  the 
Orient.  While  I  was  seeing  all  those  new  things,  I  began 
to  forget  a  little,  and  at  night  I  was  so  tired  that  I  had  to 
sleep.  Rosalie  was  so  nice  and  trustworthy,  she  was  almost 
like  a  friend,  and  as  for  Anastasi,  we  all  swore  by  him.  Mr. 
Arnold  had  no  hesitation  in  leaving  me  with  them.  You 
know  I'm  not  a  youngster,  and  I've  taken  care  of  myself  for 
ever  so  long." 

"Hm,"  said  the  doctor,  "you're  still  in  your  twenties, 
aren't  you?" 

Jean  nodded.     "Twenty-eight." 

"I  thought  so.  And  your  looks  are — well,  noticeable,  to 
say  the  least." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jean.  "Mrs.  Whiting,  I  am  told, 
v/ould  think  me  very  plain." 

"Don't  interrupt  your  story.     What  happened  next?" 

"Everything  went  splendidly  until  we  reached  the  River 


56  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Aras.  We  travelled  by  caravan  and  made  our  own  camp 
at  night,  instead  of  stifling  in  those  horrible  khans.  It  was 
all  perfectly  delightful." 

"  Rather  cold,  I  should  say,  for  one  of  your  tender  habits." 

"I'm  not  so  very  tender.  Camping  has  been  my  chief 
delight,  since  I  was  a  youngster." 

"Well,  go  on,  go  on." 

Jean  Stuart  smilingly  regarded  the  little  doctor.  "Why 
don't  I  snub  you,"  she  wondered,  "as  I  did  that  gorgon- 
headed  Mrs.  Prescott  ?  " 

"You  don't  dare,"  said  the  doctor.  "How  many  times 
must  I  tell  you  to  go  on?" 

"Well,  when  we  reached  the  River  Aras,  Anastasi  got  into 
a  fuss  with  the  Custom  House  officials." 

"Of  course,"  said  the  doctor. 

"That's  what  I  thought,  and  it  didn't  bother  me  at  all. 
Even  when  Anastasi  explained  that  it  would  delay  us  an 
extra  night,  I  went  to  bed  in  perfect  confidence  and  woke 
to  find  myself  alone  in  the  middle  of  Asia." 

"Humph,"  said  Dr.  MacColl. 

"  Rosalie  had  left  an  elaborate  note  explaining  that  her 
husband  had  met  his  most  ruthless  enemy,  that  he  was 
obliged  to  flee  in  the  night,  that  he  could  not  take  Mademoi- 
selle with  him  because  his  going  would  then  have  been  dis- 
covered, that  he  considered  it  a  risk  to  take  his  wife,  but 
that  she  insisted,  though  desolated  to  leave  Mademoiselle ; 
'but  it  may  well  be,'  the  note  remarked,  'that  if  he  take 
leave  of  me  now,  I  may  never  see  him  again.' " 

"She  was  right  there,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Rosalie  went  on  to  say  that  they  would  commend  me  to 
trust  myself  unreservedly  to  the  bearer  of  the  note,  who  was 
an  experienced  person,  very  friendly  to  the  country,  and  of 
the  strictest  integrity  and  faithfulness.  This  person  turned 
out  to  be  Hadji  Husain.  Well,  what  was  I  to  do  ?  It  was 
almost  as  far  to  turn  back  as  to  press  on.  I  had  no  reason 


EXPLANATIONS    GIVEN  57 

to  think  it  more  dangerous.  Hadji  Husain  assured  me  he 
would  bring  me  safely  to  Muramna ;  and  the  long  and  short 
of  it  was  that  I  hated  to  turn  back.  How  foolish  was  I  ?" 

"Your  foolishness  had  come  earlier  in  the  day.  I  wish 
I  could  get  that  Mr.  Arnold  within  reach  of  my  tongue ! 
Well,  as  it's  turned  out,  there's  no  harm  done.  But  it's 
only  another  illustration  of  the  old  proverb." 

"The  one  about  Providence  watching  over  fools?"  asked 
Jean. 

"When  did  the  fellow  first  begin  to  frighten  you?" 

"Not  until  yesterday  morning  at  Kazu.  I  had  been 
spending  the  nights  at  khans,  you  see,  because  it  seemed  a 
little  more  prudent." 

"Humph  !"  repeated  the  doctor. 

' '  I  had  risen  early,  expecting  to  reach  Muramna  that 
night ;  and  when  I  found  that  the  Hadji  would  not  move 
because  of  the  snow,  I  spoke  to  him  in  a  way  that  he  re- 
sented. He  snarled  at  me  and  was  so  impertinent  that  I 
was  awfully  frightened.  We  were  at  the  door  of  the  khan, 
and  of  course  there  was  a  crowd.  I  looked  at  every  face, 
hoping  against  hope  for  the  sight  of  a  European.  Then  I 
remembered  that  in  rushing  out  to  see  why  Hadji  was  not 
getting  the  horses  out  from  under  me  in  the  stable,  I  had 
forgotten  my  revolver.  The  old  man  Kasha  Abraham  fol- 
lowed me  in,  as  you  know.  I'm  told  he's  a  Christian  pastor. 
Mr.  Lawrence  says  he  is  not  to  have  a  money  reward.  Is 
that  fair  to  the  good  old  soul?" 

"We'll  have  to  see.    You  knew  Dan  in  America?" 

"No,  but  I  once  heard  him  preach.  It  was  in  Shiloh, 
Connecticut,  two  or  three  years  ago.  It  wasn't  an  eloquent 
sermon.  In  fact  my  friends  found  it  rather  dull." 

"But  you  liked  it?" 

"I  liked  him.  I  liked  the  way  he  spoke  of  his  life.  He 
gave  the  impression  of  having  found  something  that  suited 
him.  It  happened  that  I  had  been  playing  a  game  with 


58  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

myself  of  looking  for  a  contented  person.  In  all  my  search 
I  found  no  other,  and  after  a  while  I  began  to  doubt 
whether  he  would  seem  so  contented,  if  I  could  see  him  in 
his  own  environment,  pestered  with  all  the  little  things  that 
are  too  much  for  the  rest  of  us.  I  suppose  you  think  me 
awfully  silly ;  but  really  it  was  partly  curiosity  that  drew 
me  on,  for  Mr.  Lawrence  had  intimated  that  all  his  col- 
leagues were  just  as  much  taken  up  with  life  as  he  was. 
I  thought  I'd  like  to  see  what  this  kind  of  work  is  that 
will  satisfy  a  human  soul." 

"You  shall  see  it  to  your  heart's  content,"  cried  the  doc- 
tor. "To-morrow  morning  I'll  take  you  round  the  Hos- 
pital." 

"No,  no,"  protested  Jean,  "that's  just  what  I  can't  bear. 
I  hate  to  see  people  suffer." 

"And  yet  you  want  to  look  on  at  missionary  work?" 
The  doctor  smiled  sadly.  "Oh  well,  we'll  have  you  doing 
it  before  long,  and  that's  the  part  that  contents  us." 

"Me  doing  missionary  work!"  Jean  held  up  both  her 
hands,  and  her  eyes  danced.  "Besides,  I  won't  stay  here 
long  enough.  I'd  rather  go  away,  after  all,  before  I've 
seen  that  the  Lawrences  are  just  like  other  people." 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "if  you  can  find  any  safe  way 
to  leave  Muramna  before  spring,  I'll  give  you  that  Com- 
pleat  Angler  to  take  home  with  you." 

"Done!"  cried  Jean.  "I'll  stake  all  my  four  volumes 
against  your  one.  And  I'll  just  have  to  write  my  Aunt  Cor- 
delia," she  chuckled,  "that  I  hadn't  been  in  Muramna 
twenty-four  hours  before  I  was  making  a  bet  with  one  of 
my  missionary  friends !" 


CHAPTER  DC 

A  BOX  OF  PERFECTOS 

THAT  evening,  at  a  later  hour  than  their  wives  would  have 
liked,  or  indeed  allowed,  the  gentlemen  of  the  Station,  ex- 
cepting Mr.  Freyer,  who  had  stayed  at  the  College,  were  mak- 
ing themselves  comfortable  in  the  Lawrences'  sitting-room. 
The  scene  was  one  that  faintly  suggested  dissipation ;  for 
Dan  Lawrence  had  brought  out  the  Sparklet  bottle  (one  of 
the  fruits  of  his  last  furlough)  and  was  busily  concocting 
a  pale  pink  beverage  which,  as  there  are  no  lemons  in  Persia, 
was  neither  circus  lemonade  —  nor  anything  stronger.  Dr. 
Lawrence  sat  with  his  usual  stateliness  in  his  armchair  by 
the  round  table ;  but  the  other  gentlemen  were  disposed  in 
easy  attitudes  around  the  room ;  and  Dr.  Franklin  had  taken 
out  the  old  pipe  which  he  loved  to  finger  in  his  hours  of  ease, 
though  he  had  almost  given  up  using  it  in  any  other  way. 
The  tobacco  he  was  able  to  get  on  the  Mission  field  was  not 
as  soothing  to  his  nerves  as  the  blend  he  had  smoked  in  the 
days  when  he  had  the  largest  practice  in  Milwaukee,  Wis- 
consin ;  and  he  was  now  heard  again  to  complain  that  even 
"the  filthy  weed"  was  not  what  it  used  to  be. 

"Better  be  thankful  that  you  feel  so,"  said  George  Whit- 
ing righteously.  "A  missionary  has  no  business  to  be  a 
smoker."  George  had  promised  Stella,  when  they  were  en- 
gaged, to  give  up  smoking ;  but  it  is  likely  that  if  they  had 
made  their  home  in  America,  his  would  have  been  one  of  the 
promises  that  are  allowed  to  lapse  after  marriage. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Dr.  Franklin.  "Some- 
times I  think  we'd  get  on  better  with  the  Moslem  grandees, 

59 


60  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

if  we  smoked  with  them  as  the  diplomats  do.  It's  contrary 
to  the  policy  of  the  Mission,  I  know ;  but  in  my  opinion,  we 
should  not  eschew  habits  which  would  naturally  bring  us 
nearer  to  the  people  among  whom  we  live." 

"If  the  habit  is  wrong?"  said  George  Whiting  fervently. 

Dr.  Franklin  shrugged  his  shoulders.  !<  'And  who  shall 
arbitrate  ?' "  he  murmured ;  for  the  doctor's  favorite  poet 
was  the  great  Apostle  of  the  Imperfect,  "when  even  our 
wives  disagree  on  this  great  question."  Aloud  he  added, 
"Well,  it  may  be  a  damaging  admission ;  but  if  I  were  con- 
fronted with  a  Perfecto,  you'd  see  me  falling  from  grace  so 
fast  that  you  wouldn't  know  when  I  bumped." 

Thorley  Prescott,  who  had  been  reading  an  August  copy 
of  the  Literary  Digest,  suddenly  thumped  the  fore  legs  of  his 
straight  chair  on  the  floor  and  left  the  room.  He  could  be 
heard  going  upstairs  two  steps  at  a  time  and  slamming  the 
door  that  led  across  a  little  gangway  from  Dan's  study  to 
his  own  in  the  next  house.  Before  the  subject  of  conver- 
sation had  been  changed  in  the  sitting-room,  he  had  come 
back  with  a  wooden  box,  which  he  held  out  to  the  doctor, 
saying,  —  ^ 

"Here's  your  Perfecto,  sir." 

"Holy  smoke,  Thor !  Those  look  like  the  real  thing." 
The  doctor  incredulously  pinched  three  or  four  of  the  cigars. 
"Yellow  ribbons  and  gold  bands  and  a  smell  that  carries 
me  back  to  Milwaukee.  Anybody  left  you  a  fortune  ?  " 
"Take  one,"  said  Thorley,  moving  the  box  impatiently. 
The  other  missionaries,  wide-eyed,  gathered  in  a  circle 
around  the  doctor,  except  the  two  Lawrences,  who  went 
on  quietly  with  what  they  were  doing. 

The  doctor,  still  with  an  air  of  scepticism,  chose  a 
cigar,  and  sniffed  it  carefully  before  he  cut  off  the  end. 
Then,  sitting  upright  in  his  chair,  he  scratched  a  match 
on  his  trousers,  applied  it,  and  took  the  first  whiff.  An 
expression  of  unqualified  bliss  overspread  his  face  as  he 


A  BOX    OF   PERFECTOS  6 1 

sank  back  into  his  chair.  He  pushed  Thorley  gently 
away  with  his  foot  and  said,  — 

"Don't  talk  to  me  now,  boy.  Don't  tell  me  where  you 
got  'em.  It's  too  good  to  be  true;  but  while  it  lasts,  I'll 
just  pretend." 

With  that,  he  shut  his  eyes,  half  opening  them  once  in  a 
while  to  watch  the  rings  of  smoke. 

"That  cigar  has  brought  down  its  victim.  Anybody 
else  going  to  fall  from  grace?"  With  a  quizzical  look, 
Thorley  passed  the  box  to  his  father.  John  Prescott,  who 
though  he  stooped,  was  taller  than  his  son,  looked  down  at 
him  with  a  tolerant  expression  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"It's  a  saving  of  good  cigars  to  pass  them  to  me,"  he  said, 
smiling  behind  his  gray  whiskers. 

"Did  you  ever  smoke,  Mr.  Prescott?"  asked  Roger 
Standish. 

"Enough  so  I  don't  care  about  repeating  the  first  symp- 
toms," replied  the  older  man. 

"First  symptoms,  nothing,"  said  Dr.  Franklin  without 
removing  his  cigar.  "This  weed  couldn't  upset  a  baby. 
Try  it,  Prescott ;  you'll  sleep  better  for  it." 

The  older  Prescott  turned  away  with  the  same  quiet  smile. 

Roger  Standish  was  rude  enough  to  mutter,  "He  might 
sleep  for  one  night,  but  after  that  — 

There  was  this  excuse  for  Roger  that  he  wanted  one  of 
those  cigars  more,  it  seemed  to  him  at  the  moment,  than  he 
had  ever  wanted  anything  else.  The  aroma  brought  back 
the  few  occasions  in  his  life,  when,  after  a  real  dinner,  a  box  of 
real  cigars  had  been  passed.  He  had  worked  his  way 
through  College  and  the  Seminary ;  but  it  had  cost  him  less 
effort  to  earn  the  extra  money  for  tobacco  than  to  give  it  up 
at  last,  after  more  than  one  scolding  from  his  doctor.  Now 
he  was  approached  by  Prescott  with  the  brown  box;  and 
though  he  had  resolved  not  to  do  any  such  thing,  his  hand 
went  out  automatically.  Dr.  Franklin  was  oblivious. 


62  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

George  Whiting's  lip  curled;  for  he  had  more  than  once 
overheard  Standish  freeing  his  mind  on  the  perennial  subject 
of  Thorley  Prescott's  black  pipe  and  its  bad  influence  on  the 
native  pastors  and  the  college  boys.  Standish  had  taken  a 
cigar  and  was  feeling  for  his  knife,  when  Dan  Lawrence 
stepped  up  behind  him. 

"Will  it  pay  for  the  bother  of  leaving  off  again ?"  he  said 
in  a  tone  casual  enough  not  to  draw  attention.  Standish 
turned  and  looked  into  the  kind  eyes. 

"If  anybody  else  had  said  that  to  me,"  he  muttered,  "I'd 
have  smoked  Hke  a  chimney  all  the  evening.  Much  obliged. 
Just  take  it,  will  you  ?  I  don't  want  Whiting  to  see  me  put 
it  back." 

Now  Thorley  Prescott  had  finished  his  rounds.  He  placed 
the  box  near  Dr.  Franklin  and  went  back  to  his  corner, 
where,  with  his  chair  tilted  against  the  wall,  he  resumed  his 
reading. 

"Won't  you  smoke,  Thor?"  asked  Dan  Lawrence,  won- 
dering a  little  what  his  wife  would  say  when  she  smelled  her 
sitting-room  in  the  morning. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Thorley.  He  took  out  his  notorious 
black  pipe,  filled  it  from  a  leather  pouch  shiny  with  age, 
settled  his  feet  more  comfortably  on  the  rounds  of  his  chair, 
and  struck  a  match.  The  doctor  had  just  been  wakened 
from  his  reverie  by  burning  his  fingers,  so  he  threw  away 
his  cigar  end,  and  not  noticing  the  box  at  his  elbow,  looked 
around  for  the  dispenser  of  bounty.  There  was  Thorley  in 
a  cloud  of  acrid  smoke  that  was  gaining  the  victory  already 
over  the  fragrance  in  the  doctor's  corner.  The  doctor 
sprang  from  his  chair. 

"Well,  Thor,"  he  cried.  "Has  anything  affected  your 
mind  or  have  you  only  lost  your  senses  from  smoking  that 
abominable  Mixture  ?  " 

"Nothing  ails  me,  I  guess,"  answered  Thorley,  "but  vul- 
garity. The  rest  of  the  box  is  yours,  Doctor." 


A  BOX   OF   PERFECTOS  63 

"What !  Am  I  the  only  sinner?  With  such  a  tempta- 
tion, too?  Come,  Thor,  what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

He  came  and  stood  in  front  of  the  young  man,  clasping  his 
hands  behind  him  under  his  coat-tails,  and  peering  out,  for 
some  time,  from  beneath  his  shaggy  eyebrows.  Thorley, 
scowling  at  the  Literary  Digest,  continued  to  smoke  his 
pipe.  At  last  the  doctor  threw  back  his  head  with  the  laugh 
that  had  once  brought  down  a  ceiling. 

"Ha  !  Ha  !  ha,  ha,  hmmm,"  he  finished,  subsiding  into  a 
chuckle.  "These  cigars  are  too  intellectual  for  you,  are 
they  ?  They  suit  me  down  to  the  ground  and  so  does  the 
lady.  What  inspired  her  to  bring  'em  ?  She  may  smoke ; 
but  I'll  bet  she  doesn't  smoke  cigars.  Ha,  Ha,  —  ha,  ha  ! " 

Thorley  Prescott's  face  was  a  dark  red.  He  thumped  his 
chair  furiously  to  the  floor  and  rose  as  if  to  leave  the 
room. 

Dr.  Franklin,  towering  above  him  by  several  inches,  put 
a  heavy  hand  on  the  broad  shoulder.  "No  offence,  Thor- 
ley," he  said  heartily.  "I  only  hate  to  send  up  the  smoke 
that  you  have  earned.  And  she  did  bowl  you  over  at  dinner 
about  as  neatly  as  any  lady  could  ! "  The  doctor  ventured 
a  milder  laugh  in  which,  after  a  second,  Thorley  Prescott 
joined  him.  This  was  the  signal  for  a  general  shout. 

"Who  is  Miss  Stuart,  anyway?"  asked  Roger  Standish, 
when  he  could  make  himself  heard. 

"Yes,  does  anybody  know?"  demanded  George  Whiting. 

"She  appears  to  have  a  great  talent  for  evading  ques- 
tions," ventured  Mr.  Prescott. 

"That  seems  to  me  a  very  good  sign,"  said  Dan  Law- 
rence. "If  she  had  anything  to  conceal,  she  would  have 
invented  some  story  to  set  our  minds  at  rest.  Margaret 
thinks  her  very  much  of  a  lady ;  and  the  children  have 
taken  to  her  wonderfully.  As  for  the  cigars,  she  got  them 
for  her  courier  and  asked  Margaret  to  dispose  of  them  be- 
cause she  disliked  the  odor  among  her  things." 


64  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

The  doctor  burst  out  laughing  again. 

"An  appropriate  commission  for  Mistress  Margaret,"  he 
shouted.  "  I  must  speak  to  her  about  dispensing  cigars." 

Dan  smiled  and  did  not  reveal  the  measures  he  had  taken 
to  secure  the  box  for  his  friend. 

"Say,  Prescott,"  blurted  out  Standish  with  the  effort 
which  was  always  necessary  when  he  addressed  his  taciturn 
colleague.  "How  was  it  about  that  courier,  anyhow? 
What  did  happen  when  you  found  Miss  Stuart  ? " 

"Nothing  much,"  said  Prescott. 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"Knuckled  under." 

"Did  he  run  away?"  pursued  Standish. 

"When  he  got  a  chance." 

"Wasn't  there  more  than  one  man  with  her?"  asked 
George  Whiting.  "Abdullah  talks  as  if  he  had  defeated 
an  army." 

"  She  had  muleteers,  of  course ;  but  you  know  what  cattle 
they  are." 

"You  kept  them,  I  suppose,  until  you  reached  the  Com- 
pound ?  " 

This  question  came  from  Dr.  Franklin. 

"Of  course." 

"Did  you  have  any  trouble  with  them  ?" 

"No." 

"Why  didn't  you  bring  in  the  courier,  too?"  asked 
George  Whiting. 

"What  would  you  have  done  with  him?" 

"Had  he  deserved  punishment?" 

Thorley  smiled.  "Ask  the  'Khanum  with  the  Head  of 
the  Rising  Sun.'" 

"I  heard  her  discoursing  on  that  point,"  said  Dr.  Law- 
rence, beaming  at  Thorley  over  his  glasses.  "She  was  elo- 
quent enough  when  it  came  to  describing  her  rescue.  '  De- 
liverance on  a  Black  Horse,'  she  called  you." 


A   BOX   OF   PERFECTOS  65 

Thorley  growled  and  returned  to  the  Literary  Digest. 

"But  she  was  still  bewildered,"  continued  Dr.  Lawrence, 
"because  you  let  the  rascal  go  without  punishment.  She 
seems  to  fear  that  he  will  seek  revenge." 

Thorley  growled  again. 

"I  suppose  she  thinks  it  would  have  made  him  amiable, 
if  I  had  got  the  Governor  to  cut  off  his  ears." 

"Will  he  harbor  a  grudge,  do  you  think?"  asked  Mr. 
Prescott,  beginning  to  look  anxiously  at  his  son. 

"Why  shouldn't  he?"  said  Thorley  with  a  slight  move- 
ment of  his  shoulders. 

More  questions  would  have  been  asked ;  but  Dan  Law- 
rence insisted  on  filling  up  all  the  glasses  from  the  Sparklet 
bottle,  and  he  called  for  a  rising  toast  to  Deliverance  on  a 
Black  Horse,  after  which  it  was  mildly  suggested  that  they 
had  better  go  to  bed.  Dr.  Franklin  yawned  prodigiously. 

"Come  along,  fellows,"  he  said.  "It's  to-morrow;  and 
if  we  should  stay  up  any  longer,  somebody  would  be  talking 
refugees,  which  you  know  was  forbidden  only  for  Thanks- 
giving Day." 

A  shadow  settled  down  over  the  face  of  every  man  present, 
and  there  was  no  more  light  talk  or  laughter  as  they  went 
their  ways  to  bed. 

When  he  had  made  his  guests  comfortable  for  the  night, 
Dan  Lawrence,  seeing  a  light  still  burning  in  Thorley  Pres- 
cott's  den,  went  across  the  gangway  and  found  his  neighbor 
alone. 

"Thor,"  he  said,  "there  is  danger  from  the  Hadji." 

"Well,"  admitted  Prescott,  "I  was  fool  enough  to  make 
him  give  back  some  money  that  didn't  belong  to  him." 

"You  made  him  give  back  money?" 

"Fifteen  tomans  excess  which  he  had  extorted  from  Miss 
Stuart  that  morning  —  he  had  really  been  robbing  her  right 
along  —  and  the  forty-eight  tomans  owing  to  the  muleteers. 
He  hadn't  paid  them  a  chahi." 


66  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Was  that  quite  prudent?  You  could  have  allowed  the 
muleteers  to  take  their  own  money  and  let  the  rest  go." 

"  I  was  red-hot  at  the  man ;  and  it  was  impossible  to  whip 
him  properly  before  her." 

Dan  whistled.  "It's  a  pity  you  couldn't  have  sent  her 
ahead,  if  it  came  to  that.  A  whipping  does  such  a  fellow 
good ;  but  to  take  his  money  !  Whew  ! " 

"His  money  !"  said  Prescott. 

"Well,  did  he  consider  it  yours?"  Dan  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment in  serious  thought ;  then  he  walked  close  up  to  his  friend, 
and  putting  an  arm  across  his  shoulder,  "Thor,"  he  said, 
"  I  don't  forget  that  you  went  in  my  place ;  and  if  ever  you 
know  of  any  danger  likely  to  come  from  this  fellow,  I  want 
you  to  share  it  with  me." 

"Oh  pshaw,  Dan,  it  was  my  fault  entirely." 

"You  went  as  my  proxy,"  said  Dan  quietly,  "and  if 
there  are  evil  consequences,  they  should  fall  on  me." 

Thorley  Prescott  was  strangely  moved.  He  remembered 
Dan's  look  and  his  words,  until  he  had  reason  never  to  forget 
them. 


CHAPTER  X 

TURNING  UP  A  TRUMP 

"HAVEN'T  I  heard  it  suggested,"  remarked  Jean  Stuart, 
"that  the  Sabbath  is  a  day  of  rest?" 

Thorley  Prescott  chuckled.  He  had  been  taking  supper 
with  the  Lawrences  because  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Prescott 
were  conducting  special  meetings  at  the  College.  Dan 
Lawrence  had  gone  over  to  hold  a  service  at  the  Guest  De- 
partment (rooms  in  one  of  the  mission  buildings,  where 
men  from  out  of  town  were  free  to  lodge  for  a  limited  time). 
Dr.  Lawrence  had  a  native  conference  in  his  study;  and 
Margaret  was  upstairs  with  the  children. 

"  Did  they  forget  to  give  you  time  for  your  Sunday  nap  ?  " 

Jean  waved  the  question  aside.  "Mr.  Lawrence  is  now 
preaching  for  the  third  time.  The  second  time,  he  rode 
eight  miles  there  and  ten  back  because  he  didn't  care 
to  make  his  horse  swim  the  river  twice.  Mrs.  Lawrence 
has  played  the  organ  in  preaching  service  and  in  Sunday 
School,  besides  teaching  a  class  of  little  girls.  This  after- 
noon she  went  way  over  the  other  side  of  the  city  to  talk 
with  two  or  three  Moslem  women ;  and  between  times,  she 
has  done  most  of  the  work  of  the  house,  so  as  to  give  her 
servants  a  holiday. 

"Those  ladies  at  the  Seminary  have  received  a  constant 
stream  of  children,  beginning  before  I  was  up  this  morning. 
They  held  a  church  service,  because  the  regular  church  was 
so  crowded  that  the  children  had  to  be  sent  away." 

"Didn't  you  wish  you  could  be  sent  away  ?"  asked  Thor- 
ley. "I  saw  you.  What  did  you  have  hidden  in  your 

67 


68  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

handkerchief  ?  You  weren't  moved  to  tears  by  a  Syriac 
sermon." 

"  I  did  want  to  cry  when  I  saw  those  awful  people  outside 
the  gate  and  those  wretched  little  children.  Mr.  Lawrence 
said  they  were  homeless  refugees  from  Turkey.  What  is  to 
become  of  them  ?  " 

Prescott  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  thought  I  had  seen  misery  in  New  York,"  Jean  con- 
tinued. "It  was  nothing  !  How  can  you  live  with  all  this 
before  you?  Is  it  always  as  bad?" 

"No,  it's  worse  than  ever." 

"Why?" 

"The  wheat  crop  failed  this  year  in  most  villages  of  the 
Plain  —  failed  for  lack  of  rain  —  though  it  needn't  have 
been  so  bad,"  he  mused,  "if  they  had  known  how  to  use 
what  rain  did  fall.  That  brings  the  country  people  into  the 
city,  destitute.  And  on  top  of  them  we  get  a  mob  of  Turk- 
ish and  Nestorian  mountaineers,  chased  out  by  Kurds." 

"What  are  Kurds?" 

"Wild  tribes  who  wander  through  the  Mountains,  living 
on  anything  they  can  steal.  Fierce  fellows  they  are.  I 
like  'em  better  than  Nestorians ;  but  they  make  us  a  heap 
of  trouble." 

"What  are  Nestorians?" 

"  Syrians,  really  —  the  remnants  of  the  old  church  founded 
by  Nestorius  way  back  in  the  time  of  the  first 
heresies." 

"Not  Moslems,  then?" 

"Oh  no  !  Staunch  Christians  —  sticking  to  the  faith  of 
their  fathers  like  a  dog  to  a  root  —  not  knowing  what  they 
have  between  their  teeth,  perhaps,  but  holding  on  like  grim 
death  through  persecutions  that  would  have  blotted  any 
other  people  from  the  face  of  the  earth." 

"Persecutions?" 

"Certainly.    They  get  it  from  all  sides.    Almost  all  the 


TURNING   UP   A   TRUMP  69 

mountaineers  are  Christians,  so  the  Kurds  make  a  practice 
of  swiping  their  sheep  and  harrying  their  wheat-fields.  It 
saves  the  Government  no  end  of  trouble." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  the  Government  likes  to  have  its  sub- 
jects persecuted?" 

"Of  course.  Keeps  up  its  own  end  pretty  well,  too.  A 
Christian's  testimony  never  stands  against  a  Moslem's  in  a 
court  of  law.  He  can  be  skinned  out  of  his  eye-teeth ;  and  the 
judge  stands  by  with  righteous  approval.  Oh,  you'll  like 
this  country  when  you  know  a  little  more  about  it.  It's  a 
hot  place  to  live  in,  almost  as  hot  as  —  I'd  better  change  the 
subject  or  you'll  begin  to  dread  the  prospect  of  spending 
the  whole  winter  here."  His  lips  were  distorted  by  a  most 
unpleasant  smile ;  and  his  eyes,  which  could  be  so  luminous, 
were  obscured  by  a  thick  curtain  of  gloom. 

Miss  Stuart  leaned  forward  eagerly  in  her  chair.  "I  have 
been  waiting  for  a  chance  to  appeal  to  you,"  she  said. 
"Why  must  I  stay  here  all  winter?" 

"How  can  you  get  away?"  His  expression  became  a 
shade  more  cheerful,  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"Can't  you  help  me?" 

"  No,  truly,  I  can  not."  A  real  smile  struggled  to  find  its 
way  through  the  darkness  of  his  look;  and  Jean  saw  it 
coming,  with  a  pleasure  she  did  not  stop  to  define. 

"Your  appeal  to  Constantinople,"  he  went  on,  "was  the 
last  resort.  I'm  glad  it  failed.  No  person  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  country  would  have  started  across  the 
mountains  with  a  woman  as  late  as  this." 

Jean  Stuart's  eyes  were  wide  open,  questioning  him  with- 
out a  word.  He  became  aware  presently  that  she  was 
waiting  for  some  kind  of  explanation. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  He  shuffled  his  feet  uneasily  and 
wished  for  his  pipe.  "Oh!"  Light  broke  upon  him. 
"Dan  got  me  to  help  decipher  your  telegrams.  He  wasn't 
sure  what  was  meant  by  their  garbled  Turkish." 


70  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

She  acknowledged  the  explanation  by  a  nod.  "Would 
you  be  afraid  to  cross  the  mountains  now?" 

"I?     Not  alone  or  with  men  only." 

"I  am  as  hardy  as  a  man." 

"What  are  you  suggesting  ?    That  7  shall  take  you  back  ?  " 

"Having  received  from  you  a  far  greater  favor,  I  venture 
to  cherish  the  faintest  of  hopes  that  you  may  be  willing  to 
escort  me  as  far  as  Tiflis.  The  American  wife  of  one  of  your 
Nestorians  is  willing  to  forsake  him  and  go  with  me." 

"Oh,  Mirsoon.  Don't  call  him  ours.  The  man  is  a  self- 
righteous  beast.  I  don't  wonder  his  wife  longs  for  the 
heaven  of  her  old  home  in  Jersey  City." 

"I  don't,  either.  Mrs.  Lawrence  took  me  yesterday  to 
see  the  stable  she  lives  in  here.  How  could  she  have  made 
up  her  mind  to  marry  him  ?  She  told  me  with  regretful 
pride  that  if  she  had  stayed  where  she  belonged,  she  would  have 
had  a  good  chance  to  get  a  place  as  saleslady  at  Handmaker's. 
What  made  her  leave  it  all?" 

"The  glamor  of  the  East.  You  ought  to  know  what  that 
is." 

"  I  do ;  but  I'm  beginning  to  know  what  it  is  to  hunger  for 
a  sight  of  the  New  York  sky-line.  There  isn't  anything 
half  so  beautiful  in  the  whole  world  !  And  you  are  going 
to  help  us  get  back  to  it,  aren't  you  ?  " 

Miss  Stuart  herself  looked  very  beautiful  as  she  conde- 
scended to  pleading.  She  was  a  woman  who  could  ask  a 
favor  and  make  a  man  feel  that  she  was  conferring  one. 
Thorley  Prescott  felt  his  own  disappointment  far  more 
keenly  than  hers,  as  he  hesitated  long  enough  to  fix  in  his 
mind  forever  the  expression  of  her  big  gray  eyes  and  the  line 
of  her  lips. 

"I  hate  to  say  no,"  he  faltered  at  last,  "but  it  can't  be 
done.  That  puny  girl  could  never  cross  the  mountains 
alive.  Even  for  a  strong  woman  like  you,  I  wouldn't  risk 
it." 


TURNING   UP   A   TRUMP  Jl 

"Suppose  it  were  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "It  isn't." 

"But  if  I  promise  to  take  the  very  best  care  of  that  woman 
and  not  to  give  you  the  least  bit  of  trouble?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Then  there's  some  other  reason  that  you  haven't  told 
me." 

Prescott  smiled.  "What  answer  did  Miss  Trench  give 
you,  when  you  asked  her  to  leave  the  Moslem  girls  and  visit 
India  and  Japan  ?  " 

"Mercy  on  us,"  said  Jean.  "I  thought  she  would  take 
my  head  off  !  Yet  I'm  told  that  she  has  only  ten  girls  in  her 
school.  And  that  poor  thin  little  Miss  Lea  looked  at  me 
out  of  her  big  gray  eyes  as  if  -she  thought  I  was  a  messenger 
of  Satan." 

"Oh,  you  tried  her,  did  you?" 

"The  worst  of  it  is,  I  believe  the  child  would  give  the  hair 
off  her  head  to  go." 

"Any  one  else?" 

"Only  Dr.  MacColl;  and  of  course,  even  I  was  certain 
she  was  out  of  the  question." 

"So  I'm  the  last  resort." 

"And  there's  no  earthly  reason  why  you  shouldn't  go. 
We'll  take  the  southern  route,  if  you're  afraid  of  the  moun- 
tains. I'd  rather  push  on  to  Bushire,  anyway,  than  go  back 
the  same  way  to  Constantinople.  You  know  we'd  have 
lots  of  fun  travelling  by  caravan  through  southern  Persia. 
You  could  ride  the  Fiend  to  your  heart's  content ;  or  if  he 
grew  tamer  than  you  like,  I'd  get  you  a  new  wild  horse 
every  other  day." 

The  gleam  in  Prescott's  eyes  had  encouraged  her  through 
the  audacity  of  this  speech.  Now  his  white  teeth  were 
flashing  in  a  smile  as  brilliant  as  any  of  her  own. 

"What  do  you  take  me  for,  anyway?"  he  said. 

"For  a  man  who  wasn't  made  to  be  cooped  up  in  a  printing- 


72  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

office,"  she  replied.  "Honestly  now,  wouldn't  you  just 
love  to  play  hookey  for  awhile  ?  " 

The  white  teeth  gleamed  again;  but  there  was  more 
sternness  than  merriment  in  the  black  eyes.  "This  is  no 
blooming  boarding-school,"  he  said. 

"Oh,"  she  let  her  laugh  ring  out  merry  and  unabashed. 
''It's  Duty  and  The  Work  even  with  you,  is  it  ?  Duty  with 
a  capital  D,  THE  WORK  all  capitals,  italicized.  What  do 
you  see  in  these  dirty  heathen  that  should  keep  you  teaching 
them  'Shakespeare  and  the  musical  glasses'?  " 

The  sternness  had  left  his  eyes ;  but  the  smile  lingered  in 
them  as  he  continued  to  gaze  at  her.  "That's  right,"  he 
said,  "get  it  all  out." 

Her  face  changed  suddenly  back  to  playfulness.  "  You  see 
how  dangerous  I  am,  don't  you  ?  It  wouldn't  do  to  let  me 
stay  in  the  Mission  Station  all  winter,  and  it  would  never, 
never,  never  do  to  risk  my  poisoning  the  minds  of  these 
superlatively  Christian  children." 

"Sammy  Whiting?"  suggested  Prescott,  and  was  re- 
warded by  the  little  sound  which  he  had  first  heard  on  the 
Muramna  highway. 

"You  understand,"  Jean  asserted.  "I  couldn't  possibly 
bind  myself  to  teach  those  youngsters  in  a  way  that  would 
please  their  parents ;  and  if  I  didn't  and  yet  had  to  stay  on 
through  the  winter,  I  should  die  of  laziness  in  the  middle  of 
so  much  zeal." 

"Isn't  the  salary  an  inducement?" 

A  tiny  laugh  gurgled  in  Jean  Stuart's  throat.  Then  she 
turned  sober.  "Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "I'd  hate  that 
worse  than  anything.  I  believe  just  that  little  tiny  salary 
would  represent  a  pretty  big  sacrifice  for  all  four  families." 

"How  clever  of  you!"  said  Prescott,  but  his  look  was 
more  kindly  than  his  words.  Then  very  quizzically  he 
added,  "So  you  really  are  considering  the  job.  Do  you 
think  you  know  enough  ?  " 


TURNING  UP   A   TRUMP  73 

She  laughed  outright. 

"Come,"  she  said  imperiously.  "Give  me  an  answer. 
You  will  take  me  to  Bushire,  won't  you?" 

"I  will  not." 

"But  why?" 

Thorley  Prescott  rose  from  his  chair  and  stood  before  her 
with  his  arms  folded  and  his  head  high. 

"  Miss  Stuart,"  he  said,  "I'm  not  much  of  a  missionary ; 
but  I  hope  I'm  man  enough  to  stick  to  my  job.  Would  you 
care  to  think  of  Dan  Lawrence  doing  double  duty  while  we 
were  playing  hookey?  And  somebody  ought  to  be  organ- 
izing relief  for  the  refugees." 

"An  industry,  you  mean?" 

"Yes." 

"Would  that  be  difficult?" 

A  look  both  grim  and  eager  accompanied  the  hopeless 
tone,  "Not  if  we  had  money." 

"Won't  your  Board  furnish  it?" 

"  Hasn't  any.     Appropriations  are  sure  to  be  cut,  as  it  is." 

"How  much  money  would  you  need  to  begin  on?" 

The  eagerness  and  grimness  both  increased.  "With  a 
thousand  dollars,"  he  said  fiercely,  "I  could  change  the  look 
of  the  whole  country-side.  We  could  make  these  people 
over  new  by  giving  them  honest  work ;  and  if  I  had  a  thou- 
sand dollars  I  could  make  money  besides." 

"You!  "laughed  Jean. 

"Yes,  I,"  said  Thorley  Prescott,  squaring  his  shoulders. 
"I  could  do  it  better  than  any  man  here ;  and  the  Fiend  and 
I  would  kick  up  our  heels  all  winter  at  Akbar." 

"Well,  why  don't  you?" 

Prescott  scowled  and  sat  hopelessly  down  again. 

Then  Jean  Stuart  shot  her  last  bolt.  "Listen,"  she  said. 
"It's  worth  a  thousand  dollars  to  me  to  reach  Bushire. 
If  you'll  get  me  there,  you  shall  have  the  money  to  bring 
back." 


74  THE    GOODLY    FELLOWSHIP 

Thorley  Prescott,  with  an  incredulous  smile,  leaned  back 
in  his  chair.  "That  sounds  perfectly  lovely,"  he  said; 
"but  if  you  have  a  thousand  dollars  to  blow  in,  you  can  just 
give  it,  out  and  out.  Who'd  boss  the  job  of  spending  it,  with 
me  in  Bushire  ?  And  if  we're  going  to  carry  out  that  plan 
of  mine,  it  won't  do  to  waste  a  single  day  before  the  ground 
freezes  hard.  I  suppose  you  were  joking  about  that  thou- 
sand dollars."  He  scrutinized  her  face.  "You  wouldn't 
offer  me  wages  for  doing  you  a  favor.  But  if  by  any  chance 
you  weren't  joking,  the  Station  meets  to-morrow  to  discuss 
relief  work." 

He  bent  forward  and  looked  at  her  with  searching  ear- 
nestness. Her  face  was  inscrutable.  She  was  saying  to 
herself :  — 

"Oh  pshaw !    He's  just  like  the  others,  after  all." 

"I  wish  you'd  speak,"  he  said.  "I  can't  tell  anything 
by  your  face." 

"Two  can  play  at  taciturnity,"  she  answered. 

He  scowled,  and  rising,  began  to  stride  up  and  down  the 
room. 

"When  I  have  a  home,"  he  muttered,  "it  shan't  be  all 
full  of  little  tables." 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  Dan  Lawrence  walked  in. 

"Where  is  Margaret?"  he  asked,  as  he  dropped  into  a 
chair. 

"Why,  she  went  upstairs,"  said  Miss  Stuart,  realizing  for 
the  first  time  that  her  hostess  had  been  away  all  the 
evening. 

"I  guess  I'll  go  and  look  her  up,"  said  Dan. 

"And  I  must  say  'Good  night,'  "  said  Prescott,  holding 
out  his  hand. 

"Not  until  you've  seen  Mrs.  Lawrence,"  Jean  answered, 
putting  her  hands  behind  her  and  looking  saucily  into  his 
dogged  face.  "Let's  talk  about  little  old  New  York.  Do 
you  know  it  ?  Wouldn't  you  just  love  to  take  a  ferry  from 


TURNING   UP   A   TRUMP  75 

Twenty-third  Street  and  watch  the  lights  come  out  on  the 
high  buildings  ?  " 

"What  about  the  Chicago  sky-line,"  he  rejoined,  "from 
a  sail-boat  in  the  middle  of  Lake  Michigan?" 

"There's  something  to  be  said  even  for  that,"  Jean 
answered. 

"And  as  for  the  Golden  Gate  at  sunrise-  But  Dan 
Lawrence  was  coming  back. 

"Margaret  was  asleep  in  a  chair,"  he  said  wearily,  "so 
I've  sent  her  to  bed.  I  wish  there  were  some  way  of  making 
Sunday  less  laborious." 

"We'll  see  what  we  can  do,"  Jean  answered  briskly. 
"Meanwhile,  let's  begin  with  Monday.  Mrs.  Lawrence 
shall  not  be  school-ma'am  a  single  day  longer." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  will  teach  the  children?  And 
begin  to-morrow?"  cried  Dan,  with  the  smile  that  Jean  so 
very  much  liked  to  provoke. 

"Why,  yes,  I  think  I  may  as  well  try.  You  can  dis- 
charge me,  you  know,  if  you  find  I  don't  know  enough." 
With  the  meekness  she  thought  suitable  for  an  employee, 
she  managed  to  combine  a  daring  flash  of  fun  at  Thorley 
Prescott. 

Dan  took  her  hand  and  gave  it  a  hearty  shake. 

"I  guess  we  can  run  the  risk,"  he  said  gratefully. 
"Thorley,  you  know,  vouches  for  your  being  an  intellect- 
ual woman." 

Prescott  grasped  the  hand  which  Dan  relinquished. 

"Oh,  no  I  don't,"  he  said,  "I  can't  vouch  for  your  being 
anything  but  a  regular  trump." 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  LETTER  TO  AUNT  CORDELIA 

MURAMNA,  PERSIA,  November  3oth,  1903. 
(Via  Berlin  and  Tabriz) 

MY  DEAREST  AUNT  CORDELIA,  — 

This  is  the  first  time  since  reaching  Muramna  that  I 
have  had  time  to  sit  down  and  write  you  a  real  letter.  Not 
that  it  makes  any  difference;  for  the  mail  goes  out  only 
once  a  week,  on  Tuesday. 

I  sent  you  a  cable  last  Thursday,  saying  that  I  was  safe  in 
Muramna  under  the  care  of  American  friends ;  but  I  could 
not,  of  course,  explain  who  these  friends  are.  I  hope  you 
received  my  letter  written  at  Hamlas.  It  must  have  started 
on  its  way  at  least ;  for  I  put  it  myself  into  the  hands  of  the 
landlord.  The  courier  whom  I  found  at  the  River  Aras 
turned  out  to  be  something  of  a  rascal,  tampering  with  my 
mail  and  other  matters  which  one  prefers  to  keep  in  one's 
own  hands.  He  might  have  put  me  to  real  inconvenience 
but  for  a  very  fortunate  combination  of  circumstances. 
You  may  remember  my  speaking  of  a  Mr.  Lawrence  whom 
I  once  saw  in  Shiloh  while  visiting  the  Rosses  of  Hartford. 
I  happened  to  know  that  this  man  lived  in  Muramna.  So, 
when  I  found  that  my  courier  was  becoming  insubordinate, 
I  sent  Mr.  Lawrence  word ;  and  he  despatched  to  my  help 
his  chum,  Mr.  Thorley  Prescott,  who  pounced  upon  the 
Hadji  in  the  nick  of  time  and  sent  him  about  his  business 
with  a  smarting  back. 

76 


A   LETTER   TO   AUNT   CORDELIA  77 

I  am  now  a  guest  in  the  house  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lawrence, 
and  very  comfortably  placed.  This  is  fortunate  for  me,  as 
I  am  assured  by  all  the  members  of  the  American  colony 
that  it  will  be  absolutely  unsafe  for  me  to  leave  here  before 
April  at  the  earliest.  You  may  know  that  I  have  not  left 
one  stone  unturned  to  get  away ;  for  this  place  is  a  detest- 
able Oriental  city,  full  of  filth  and  smells  which  one  takes  as 
part  of  the  fun  in  travelling  but  loathes  the  idea  of  enduring 
for  an  entire  winter.  Besides,  in  the  words  of  Uncle  Philip, 
there  is  nothing  doing.  It  may  be  there  are  sights  to  see, 
though  I  hear  no  rumors  of  anything  more  thrilling  than 
Zoroastrian  remains;  but  everybody  is  too  busy  to  show 
me  around,  and  it  is  not  safe  for  me  now  to  go  alone,  as  the 
gentlemen  cannot  at  this  season  spare  me  a  perfectly  reliable 
man-servant.  So  you  can  see  that  I  should  soon  be  re- 
duced to  a  state  of  thumb-twiddling  that  would  drive  me 
frantic,  did  I  not  resort  to  drastic  measures  for  diversion. 
To  explain  these  measures,  I  must  go  back  a  little  way. 
And  now  prepare  yourself,  my  dear  Aunt,  for  a  shock.  What 
do  you  suppose  these  Americans  are,  among  whom  my  lot 
is  cast  for  the  next  four  or  five  months? 

THEY  ARE   MISSIONARIES! 

Droll,  isn't  it?  There  are  twenty-five  of  them,  sixteen 
adults  and  nine  children,  the  children  being  missionaries 
of  a  far  more  proselyting  stamp  than  most  of  the  parents. 
I  encountered  the  entire  aggregation  for  the  first  time  at 
Thanksgiving  dinner,  I  having  arrived  the  night  before  in 
a  state  of  dirt  and  discomfort  that  beggars  description.  Of 
course  I  had  intended  to  go  to  a  hotel  and  provide  myself 
at  once  with  an  eminently  respectable  maid.  But  it  seems 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  either  a  hotel  or  a  maid  in  this 
horrible  country,  the  inns  being  occupied  exclusively  by 
beasts  and  vermin,  and  the  girls  being  all  married  by  the 


78  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

age  of  nine !  So,  in  an  agony  of  gratitude,  I  allowed  my- 
self to  be  installed  in  the  guest-chamber  of  Mrs.  Lawrence, 
where  I  bathed  in  a  tin  tub,  slept  in  a  heavenly  bed,  feasted 
my  eyes  on  the  stars  and  stripes,  and  was  nourished  by 
angels  in  the  shape  of  two  quaint  children  and  their  still 
more  quaint  mamma. 

All  the  missionaries  are  quaint;  but,  with  one  or  two 
exceptions,  they  are  gentle-people.  Some  of  them  belong  to 
the  very  best  old  families,  one  of  these  being  an  admirer 
of  your  own.  She  is  Dr.  Flora  MacColl,  whose  grandfather, 
Dugald  MacColl,  was  at  Yale  with  Grandfather  Jonathan. 
The  doctor  herself  was  at  Miss  Vandermeer's  with  Aunt 
Jean.  She  is  a  short  woman  with  keen,  bright  eyes.  She 
remembers  you  with  much  circumstance,  having  spent  more 
than  one  vacation  at  the  old  house  in  Washington  Square. 
She  intends  to  write  you  herself  of  my  safety  and  of  her  re- 
solve to  see  that  I  behave  myself ;  so  you  had  better  tell  your 
secretary  to  preserve  all  letters  with  Persian  stamps;  for 
such  letters  will  be  worth  reading.  Dr.  MacColl  has  the 
fourth  volume  of  the  "  Compleat  Angler  "  for  which  I  have 
been  looking  all  these  years.  It  is  bound  exactly  like  my  set. 
I  saw  that  she  knew  a  book  from  a  botch  of  wood-pulp  and 
printer's  ink,  but  that  she  was  innocent  of  the  worth,  in 
dollars  and  cents,  of  her  collection.  So  I  mentioned  in  a 
perfectly  discreet  and  impersonal  way,  a  sum,  which  I  would 
not  have  been  willing  to  take  for  it  but  would  have  been 
more  than  willing  to  give.  I  thought  she  would  scratch  my 
eyes  out.  She  was  awfully  well  bred  about  it  too.  You 
know  you  have  always  said  that  a  person  who  could  be  rude 
in  an  aristocratic  way  was  a  person  to  consider.  I  must 
say  I  am  forced  to  consider  Dr.  MacColl.  She  is  evidently 
as  poor  as  skim  milk  and  not  at  all  sensitive  about  it  —  told 
me  of  her  own  accord  that  her  best  silk  gown  was  ten  years 
old,  and  expected  me  to  admire  its  wearing  qualities.  You 
can  imagine  how  it  looked  on  a  perfectly  square  woman  with 


A  LETTER  TO  AUNT  CORDELIA  79 

no  claims  to  beauty  !  But  no,  you  can't ;  the  looks  of  it 
pass  your  comprehension.  It  is  shiny  and  rusty  and  slimpsy 
beyond  words.  (The  doctor  smoothed  it  complacently, 
and  said  she  always  had  liked  nice  material.)  It  is,  more- 
over, boggled  as  to  its  making  (even  its  proud  owner  ad- 
mitted that  it  would  hardly  outlive  another  reconstruction), 
and  as  to  its  trimming,  it  is  decayed,  the  few  threads  of 
garniture  left  on  it  giving  evidence  of  having  begun  life  as 
a  species  of  furniture  fringe,  of  a  nauseous  purple  hue.  In 
this  creation  the  doctor  looks  a  perfect  gentlewoman ;  and 
the  same  thing  may  be  said  of  Mrs.  Lawrence,  Mrs.  Frank- 
lin, Miss  Oddfellow,  and  Miss  Trench,  arrayed,  all  of  them, 
in  garments  that  came  out  of  Methuselah's  Ark.  (You  see 
I  am  already  taking  to  the  Bible.  Have  to,  in  self-defence.) 
Mrs.  Whiting  and  Miss  Lea  are  tawdry  —  would  like  to  be 
fashionable,  poor  lambs,  and  can't  for  obvious  reasons,  among 
which  their  distance  from  civilization  is  only  one.  Mrs. 
Prescott,  surnamed  Melissa,  in  whom  I  recognize  my  old 
friend  Medusa,  snaky  locks  and  all,  would  be  neither  more 
nor  less  impressive  without  any  clothes  whatever.  I  don't 
know  what  she  wore.  We  have  already  joined  battle,  she 
and  I.  That  is,  she  has;  and  so  far  she  has  obtained  no 
advantage  of  me. 

But  I  set  out  to  explain  the  curious  new  diversion  which 
I  have  found.  You  see  these  missionaries  have  among 
them  nine  children,  very  lovely  children,  too,  though  rather 
more  puny  than  one  likes  to  see.  Having  shut  their  children 
off  entirely  from  all  educational  advantages,  the  parents 
club  together  and  engage  the  services  of  a  teacher.  This 
young  person  i?  brought  out  from  America  to  serve  three 
years.  They  find  her  generally,  I  believe,  somewhere  in 
central  Idaho.  In  return  for  teaching,  she  receives  her  trav- 
elling expenses,  her  living  while  in  Muramna,  and  a  salary 
too  munificent  to  men  don.  A  full-fledged  married  mis- 
sionary here  gets  about  eight  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a 


80  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

year,  with  a  hundred  dollars  thrown  in  for  each  child.  This 
princely  sum  is  gathered  from  church-members  in  America 
by  a  thing  called  the  Board.  I  have  heard  people  at  home, 
after  contributing  fifty  cents  or  so  to  Missions,  speak  as  if 
every  missionary  on  the  field  were  under  personal  obliga- 
tions to  them;  but  I  never  understood  before  what  the 
weight  of  the  obligation  is.  Do  you  realize  that  these  men 
and  women  are  dependent  upon  the  caprices  of  the  churches 
at  home  for  their  actual  living  ?  Hardly  any  of  them  have 
money  of  their  own.  It  seems  that  rich  people,  even  when 
they  believe  in  Christianity,  don't  go  as  missionaries.  I 
always  supposed,  didn't  you,  that  when  they  take  up  col- 
lections in  church  to  send  to  the  missionaries,  it  is  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  them  a  little  extra  money  by  way  of  lux- 
ury? But  it  seems  there  is  nothing  so  horrifying  to  a 
Christian  at  home  as  the  idea  of  a  missionary  living  in 
luxury  !  I  see  now  that  I  must  have  supposed,  though  I 
never  thought  about  it,  that  missionaries  went  out  under  a 
kind  of  impersonal  endowment,  something  like  college 
professors.  But  it  seems  the  Board  has  to  scrape  and  pinch 
every  year  and  send  out  appeals,  even  to  the  missionaries 
themselves,  before  it  can  get  enough  to  keep  up  the  work 
that  has  already  been  started.  The  things  they  tell  me  are 
very  surprising ;  and  I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  them  yet. 
But  this  is  wandering  far  from  the  subject.  Uncle  Philip, 
being  a  business  man  and  a  churchman,  can  explain  the 
whole  thing  to  you,  though  even  he  may  be  a  little  puzzled 
because  these  people  are  not  Episcopalians. 

To  return  to  our  teachings,  they  brought  a  young  school- 
ma'am  out  here  last  year  at  great  expense.  Her  name  I  am 
told  was  Esther  Wilcox  and  she  came  from  Massachusetts. 
She  was  harmless,  capable,  and  pious ;  and  they  were  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  her  services.  This  earnest  young  per- 
son has  now  gone,  by  her  own  wish,  with  the  consent  and 
advice  of  the  bereaved  parents,  to  teach  in  the  Nestorian 


A   LETTER   TO   AUNT   CORDELIA  8 1 

Girls'  School  at  Tabriz,  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  that  in- 
stitution from  going  under  by  reason  of  the  ill-health  of  those 
responsible  for  it.  This  is  boring  you,  of  course;  but  it 
brings  me  to  the  point.  The  position  thus  left  vacant  by 
the  devotion  of  Miss  Wilcox  to  a  collection  of  greasy  Nes- 
torians  (see  Encyclopedia)  has  been  offered  by  Mr.  Lawrence 
to  no  less  a  person  than  your  distinguished  and  remarkable 
grand-niece  (here  regarded  in  no  such  rosy  light  as  that). 
What  is  more,  it  has  been  accepted,  and  a  contract  signed  to 
last  until  April  i5th,  unless  Miss  Wilcox  can  arrange  to  re- 
turn before  that  auspicious  date,  in  which  case  your  grand- 
niece  is  to  be  released  from  her  contract,  if  she  so  desires. 
She  is  to  instruct  these  nine  children,  four  hours  a  day,  five 
days  in  the  week,  in  subjects  ranging  from  mat-weaving  to 
Homer  and  Solid  Geometry ;  and  she  is  to  receive  as  com- 
pensation :  her  living,  consisting  of  board  and  lodging  at 
the  Lawrences',  good  but  very  plain,  and  the  gorgeous  sum 
of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars,  which,  it  may  be 
said  in  passing,  she  hates  like  the  very  devil  to  accept. 

One  entire  morning  has  she  already  devoted  to  this  task, 
in  consequence  of  which  she  aches  in  every  limb  as  if  she 
had  been  pounded,  and  her  head  feels  almost  as  intelligent 
as  a  potato. 

The  children  are  interesting.  There  are  among  them : 
two  prodigies,  one  semi-prodigy,  three  lambs,  two  ordinary 
children,  stupid,  but  not  disagreeable,  and  one  Limb  of 
Satan.  I  like  them  all.  In  fact,  I  find  myself,  by  reason 
of  them  and  other  things,  more  taken  up  with  life  than  I 
have  dreamed  of  being  since  my  little  Mary  left  me.  As 
this  was  the  object  for  which  I  started  round  the  world,  I 
count  myself  lucky  to  have  attained  it  so  soon,  and  (can  I 
say  it  without  vulgarity?)  so  cheaply.  The  missionaries, 
by  the  way,  were  dreadfully  shocked  at  my  arriving  in  their 
midst  without  a  chaperon  (you  would  like  their  ideas  of 
propriety),  and  demanded  an  explanation  of  my  behavior. 


82  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

What's  more,  I  gave  it  and  was  glad  of  the  chance  to  de- 
fend myself  !  Oh,  they're  not  to  be  sneezed  at.  You  would 
see  it  yourself. 

Now,  dearest  Aunt,  please  bear  in  mind  that  I  have  my 
seasons  of  poignant  homesickness.  There  are  moments 
when  I  would  fervently  embrace  the  toe  of  the  Statue  of 
Liberty  if  I  could  get  at  it.  Mrs.  Lawrence  says  she  would 
give  anything  for  a  morning's  shopping  with  an  ice-cream 
soda  after  it !  As  for  me,  I  believe  I  should  be  willing  to  go 
to  the  dentist's  for  the  sake  of  riding  in  the  Elevated.  Write 
me  everything,  and  send  me  all  the  papers  and  most  of  the 
magazines.  I  would  rather  read  even  that  abominable 
Grown  Gossips  than  visit  the  remains  of  the  fire-worshippers. 
And  there  are  others  here  who  would  join  me  in  a  little  harm- 
less mental  dissipation,  if  not  unduly  urged. 

Tell  all  my  friends  I  will  never  forget  it  of  them  if  they 
write  me  now,  particularly  Uncle  Philip.  Tell  — 

I  hear  a  terrific  noise  downstairs.  I  think  it  has  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  Limb  of  Satan,  who  is  here  for  the  after- 
noon while  his  parents  attend  Station  Meeting.  (See  Re- 
ports of  the  W.  C.  T.  F.  M.,  or  any  other  Christian  organiza- 
tion with  an  equal  number  of  letters.)  I  can't  stand  that 
noise.  I  must  go  down  and  see  what  it's  all  about. 

As  ever,  your  devoted  niece, 

Jean  Stuart. 

Later.  Lest  any  of  my  letters  should  have  been  lost,  I  will 
repeat  that  I  wish  the  suit  for  the  recovery  of  Delia's  money 
carried  on  to  the  bitter  end.  When  the  entire  sum  has  been 
used  up  in  costs,  it  will  be  time  to  stop.  I  have  no  intention 
that  Mercer  Bryant  shall  take  his  ease  for  the  rest  of  his 
life  by  means  of  the  Stuart  fortune.  Any  compromise  will 
be  directly  contrary  to  my  wishes.  To  avert  such  a  thing, 
I  should  be  ready  to  send  for  Robert  Courtlandt  and  go 
meekly  home  with  him  in  that  canal-worthy  yacht  of  his ! 


A   LETTER   TO   AUNT   CORDELIA  83 

And  you  can  hardly  know  how  I  feel  about  that  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  would  rather  teach  here  for  two  winters  than 
submit  to  such  a  thing.  You  cannot  know,  because  you 
have  never  been  in  Muramna.  And  since  I  have  incau- 
tiously suggested  the  idea,  let  me  warn  you  that  I  will  not 
make  use  of  Robert  Courtlandt's  yacht.  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  now  to  stay  here  for  the  winter ;  I  have  put  my- 
self under  contract  to  fulfil  certain  duties ;  and  stay  I  will, 
though  all  the  well-chaperoned  steam-yachts  in  the  world 
should  lie  at  anchor  just  outside  Muramna  walls  (which 
they  couldn't  possibly  do).  So  here  I  am,  let  me  say  in 
conclusion,  and  here  will  I  stay  to  the  end  of  the  chapter ; 
but  send  me  things  to  read,  and  above  all  things,  write  to 
your  stranded  and  slightly  homesick  Jean. 


CHAPTER 

THE   STATION  MEETING 

WHILE  Jean  Stuart  was  writing  home,  the  monthly  meet- 
ing of  Muramna  Station  was  being  held  in  the  lecture-room 
of  Faith  Seminary.  Dr.  Lawrence  was  in  the  chair,  the 
gentlemen  were  seated  in  a  group  in  front  of  him,  while 
near  the  window  on  two  sides  of  the  room  the  ladies  formed 
a  fringe  of  industry.  Miss  Oddfellow  had  appropriated  a 
skirt  of  Miss  Lea's  and,  under  the  rapt  and  unconscious  eye 
of  her  young  colleague,  was  placidly  darning  a  jagged  tear 
with  one  of  her  own  long  gray  hairs.  Miss  Trench  and  Mrs. 
Lawrence  were  sewing  swiftly  on  the  same  little  dress,  with 
now  and  then  a  whispered  conference  about  it.  Dr.  Mac- 
Coll  was  rolling  bandages.  Mrs.  Prescott,  with  her  most 
martyr-like  expression  and  her  crooked  glasses  astride  of 
her  immense  nose,  was  making  her  weekly  attack  on  the 
stocking-bag.  All  these  ladies  had  learned  by  long  practice 
to  occupy  their  fingers  while  their  minds  were  concerned 
with  the  business  of  the  meeting.  It  is  doubtful,  however, 
whether  poor  little  Mrs.  Whiting  had,  at  first,  any  attention 
to  spare  for  the  relief-work  discussion  in  which  her  husband 
was  taking  so  vigorous  an  interest.  She  was  distressed,  to 
begin  with,  because  George  had  refused  to  sit  beside  her, 
knowing  as  he  did  that  one  of  his  ears  would  be  assailed  by 
a  steady  stream  of  appeals.  George,  who  had  rather  a 
plodding  mind,  found  it  very  disconcerting  to  recall  his 
thoughts  from  a  question  of  tomans  and  chahis  to  the  decision 
as  to  whether  his  son,  who  could  be  seen  from  the  window 
playing  in  the  Lawrences'  back  yard,  was  likely  to  break 

84 


THE   STATION   MEETING  85 

his  neck  if  he  fell  from  the  mulberry  tree,  which  must  have 
been  at  least  six  feet  high.  Miss  Lea,  too,  was  so  absorbed 
in  the  famine  that  she  failed  to  be  at  all  interested  in  nice 
distinctions  of  pink  and  yellow,  the  feeling  for  which  formed 
such  a  bond  between  her  and  Mrs.  Whiting.  That  dis- 
tracted lady  was  obliged  on  this  occasion  to  pour  all  her 
whisperings  into  the  ear  of  Mrs.  Prescott  who  was  hard  of 
hearing  on  that  side,  and  replied  only  by  Jovine  nods  which 
she  considered  an  eminently  Christian  concession  to  the 
weak-mindedness  of  her  neighbor.  Mrs.  Franklin,  a  little 
in  front  of  the  other  ladies,  and  just  behind  the  gentlemen, 
was  sitting  easily  in  her  chair  with  her  hands  folded  in  her 
lap  and  her  eyes  fixed  calmly  on  whatever  person  was 
speaking. 

"I  never  could  do  two  things  at  once,"  she  always  said, 
when  asked  why  she  did  not  bring  her  work  to  Station 
Meeting. 

Little  Miss  Lea,  as  soon  as  the  discussion  began,  leaned 
forward  in  her  chair  with  a  look  that  was  almost  beautiful 
in  the  intensity  of  its  enthusiasm.  She  was  only  twenty- 
one,  just  out  of  College;  and  this  was  her  first  winter  on 
the  Mission  Field.  Roger  Standish,  who  was  not  much 
older,  had  turned  his  chair  so  that  he  could  watch  her. 
The  other  men  were  all  intent  on  the  matter  in  hand ;  and 
Roger  would  have  sworn  that  he  was  as  intent  as  any  man 
of  them. 

George  Whiting  was  speaking.  "I  have  estimated  that 
there  are  five  hundred  families  on  the  Plain  and  in  the  city 
who  are  without  adequate  provision  for  the  winter.  Of 
these  at  least  one-fourth  are  in  immediate  need  of  help. 
There  are  also  an  uncounted  lot  of  refugees  from  Turkey  and 
the  Border,  mostly  men  who  will  soon  be  a  menace  to  the 
community,  if  neglected." 

"How  much  is  there  left  of  the  relief  fund  ?"  asked  Dan 
Lawrence. 


86  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

The  Chair  called  on  Thorley  Prescott,  the  Station  Trea- 
surer, for  an  answer. 

"Eight  dollars  and  five  cents,"  growled  Prescott. 

"Have  we  any  wheat?"  asked  Mrs.  Franklin. 

"Not  more  than  enough  to  run  the  schools  through  the 
winter,"  said  Thorley. 

"The  question  arises  whether  we  have  any  right  to  hoard 
that  wheat  through  the  winter  when  people  around  us  are 
starving.  Why  not  dole  it  out  now,"  said  the  generous 
Miss  Oddfellow,  "and  trust  the  Lord  to  provide  us  with 
more  as  we  need  it  ?  Surely  He  will  not  allow  His  children 
to  hunger." 

"I  bet  He  will,  if  their  elders  have  no  more  sense  than 
that,"  Thorley  muttered  to  Dan  Lawrence. 

"Say  so,  then,  if  you  can  do  it  without  profaning  any- 
body's feelings." 

"I  can't.     Say  it  yourself." 

Dan  rose  slowly  and  faced  them  all. 

"Friends,"  he  said,  "we  are  confronted  with  one  of  the 
most  serious  questions  of  our  missionary  life.  It  is  evident 
that  relief  work  must  be  done ;  and  that,  if  it  is  to  make  any 
impression  on  the  situation,  it  must  be  more  extensive  than 
anything  we  have  ever  undertaken.  To  dole  out  the  little 
supply  of  wheat  we  have,  would  only  seem  to  help  matters 
for  a  very  few  weeks.  Then  the  people  would  be  just  as 
hungry  as  they  are  now ;  and  their  habits  of  idleness  would 
be  confirmed,  as  well  as  their  daily  dependence  on  us  for 
bread.  The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  give  them  work  and  to 
pay  them  for  it  in  money.  We  have  no  money  now ;  but 
I  would  rather  depend  on  the  Lord  to  send  us  what  we  need 
for  the  starting  of  an  industry,  than  to  give  away  our  h'ttle 
hoard  of  wheat,  which  we  require  for  keeping  our  engage- 
ments with  the  young  people  in  the  schools,  —  than  to  give 
away  our  honor,  I  may  say,  for  the  sake  of  supporting  these 
refugees  a  few  days  in  idleness.  I  should  like  to  ask 


THE   STATION   MEETING  87 

whether  there  is  any  way  of  getting  special  sums  from 
America." 

This  speech  led  to  a  double  discussion.  Several  persons 
spoke  about  the  difficulty  of  starting  industries  in  the 
winter.  A  number  of  others  dwelt  on  the  impossibility 
of  getting  money  from  America  in  time  to  relieve  the  im- 
mediate necessities  of  the  people. 

"The  upshot  of  the  whole  thing  is,"  said  Dr.  Franklin, 
"that  we  ought  to  have  gone  at  this  business  months  ago 
in  a  systematic  way;  but  there  is  so  much  to  be. done  day 
by  day  in  our  regular  work,  and  so  few,  so  abominably  few 
to  do  it!"  The  doctor  paused  to  mop  his  brow  with  an 
enormous  silk  handkerchief,  yellow  with  age  and  ragged  as 
it  could  be.  Mrs.  Prescott,  finishing  a  monumental  darn 
in  a  sock  of  her  stepson's,  reflected  that  it  would  be  more 
becoming  if  Mrs.  Franklin  mended  her  husband's  clothes 
instead  of  sitting  like  a  snow  image  with  her  hands  in  her 
lap.  The  doctor,  who  had  that  very  morning  reclaimed 
that  very  handkerchief  from  Harriet,  who  intended  to  use 
it  for  a  paint-rag,  stowed  it  away  in  his  coat-tail  pocket, 
whence  the  most  ragged  corner  of  it  jauntily  emerged, 
and  went  on  more  cheerfully  with  his  remarks.  "My 
wife,  I  know,  wrote  letters  in  the  summer  to  her  church 
people  at  home.  I  presume  that  at  the  psychological 
moment,  she  will  produce  rather  a  handsome  sum  from 
one  of  my  old  stockings.  Why  haven't  we  all  been  writing 
letters  ?" 

"People  in  America  are  tired  of  relief  work."  It  was 
Margaret  Lawrence  who  spoke  from  the  back  of  the  room. 
"They've  given  to  it  now  for  years.  You  can't  make  them 
realize  the  poverty  and  the  suffering;  and  they  think  it's 
like  pouring  money  into  a  bottomless  sieve." 

"So  it  is  !"  said  Mrs.  Franklin.  "That's  precisely  what 
it  is  !  We  beg  and  beg,  and  give  and  give ;  and  what  re- 
turn do  we  get  for  it,  except  an  uncertain  amount  of  gratitude 


88  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

and  a  heap  of  curses  from  the  paupers  we  have  helped  to 
make?" 

"Whew !"  whistled  the  doctor.  But  the  word  was  lost 
in  a  storm  of  exclamations  and  protests.  The  ladies  left 
their  handiwork  to  enter  the  heart  of  the  fray.  The 
industrial  work  of  past  years  was  praised  and  defended 
on  all  sides.  Mr.  Freyer  spoke  of  the  roads  which  had  been 
made  under  the  direction  of  the  older  Prescott.  The  road 
to  the  College,  he  declared,  was  a  monument  of  faithful 
service ;  and  countless  lives  had  been  saved  by  the  money 
which  had  been  paid  for  it.  Miss  Oddfellow  recalled  the 
industries  begun  among  the  women  by  former  colleagues. 
George  Whiting  called  attention  to  the  spirit  of  self-respect- 
ing work  which  had  always  been  encouraged  among  the 
young  men  at  the  College.  Mr.  John  Prescott  praised  his 
students  at  the  Theological  Seminary,  and  challenged  any 
one  present  to  find  one  pauper  among  them.  Miss  Trench 
declared  that  even  her  Moslem  girls  were  beginning  to  love 
work  for  its  own  sake. 

"Aren't  we  wandering  from  the  subject?"  said  Dan 
Lawrence.  "The  problem  before  us  does  not  concern  the 
people  whom  we  have  had  under  our  influence  in  our  schools 
and  as  our  employees.  It  is  simply  a  question  whether 
we  can  grapple  with  this  chance  to  help  hundreds  of  outside 
people  who  may  die  of  starvation.  If  we  had  means  to 
give  them  food,  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  make  them 
work  for  it.  The  great  and  only  question  in  my  mind  is, 
where  is  that  money  coming  from  ?" 

Mrs.  Whiting's  high  voice  rose  tremulously. 

"Can't  we  all  give  up  more  of  our  own  comforts?"  she 
said.  "I'm  willing  to  do  without,  and  so  is  George,  if  only 
the  children  can  have  enough  to  nourish  them.  (They're 
growing  so  fast  now,  dear  little  things  !)  Surely  not  one  of 
us  will  refuse  to  sacrifice  every  needless  luxury."  She 
blushed  down  at  her  embroidery,  glad  to  remember  that 


THE   STATION   MEETING  89 

the  materials  had  been  a  present  from  her  sister.  "Thanks- 
giving dinner  nearly  choked  me,"  she  finished  with  a  sob, 
"  because  I  was  thinking  about  those  starving  little  Mountain 
children  whom  Dr.  Franklin  found  that  very  day." 

George  Whiting  went  over  and  sat  down  by  his  wife, 
while  Mrs.  Prescott  patted  her  ponderously  on  the  shoulder. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Whiting,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  "we  had 
those  things,  and  the  Persians  don't  like  them.  Could  any 
little  children  .have  been  saved  by  your  cranberry  sauce  ? 
Yet  it  strengthened  us  wonderfully  because  it  was  a  taste 
of  home." 

"I  think  Mrs.  Whiting  is  right,"  cried  Amy  Lea,  "we 
ought  to  be  willing  to  give  up  everything  for  these  people." 

"And  so  we  are,"  said  Miss  Trench  quietly,  "God  knows 
we  are." 

"Brethren,"  said  Dr.  Lawrence,  rising,  "at  the  beginning 
of  this  meeting  we  asked  God's  blessing  on  our  deliberations. 
We  have  come  now  to  a  moment  of  doubt,  when  our  judg- 
ments, limited  as  they  are,  seem  to  clash  one  with  another. 
Let  us  speak  again  to  our  Father,  asking  for  His  immediate 
guidance  in  this  matter:  that  His  Spirit  may  be  in  us  all, 
and  that  His  purpose  may  be  put  clearly  into  the  mind  of 
some  one  of  us." 

He  looked  around,  intending  to  call  on  the  older  Mr. 
Prescott,  but  in  the  search  his  eye  fell  on  Thorley  and  in- 
voluntarily he  said, — 

"Will  you  lead  us?" 

Thorley  Prescott  half  rose,  then  he  sank  back  in  his  chair, 
saying  under  his  breath, — 

"Please  ask  some  one  else." 

While  Dr.  Lawrence  hesitated,  a  pall  of  embarrassment 
fell  upon  the  little  company.  It  is  impossible  to  explain 
how  mortified  they  were  that  one  of  their  number  should 
refuse  to  lead  them  in  prayer.  They  all  knew  that  Thorley 
Prescott  "drew  the  line"  as  he  himself  had  once  put  it  "on 


QO  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

lifting  up  his  feeble  voice  in  public  advice  to  the  Almighty." 
This  remark,  drawn  out  by  an  exhortation  from  George 
Whiting,  had  been  noised  abroad  in  the  Station,  and  since 
then  Thorley  Prescott  had  never  been  asked  to  pray  in 
public.  The  present  breaking  over  of  a  long-standing  rule 
was  thought  to  be  a  sign  that  Dr.  Lawrence  was  growing 
forgetful.  In  reality  the  old  gentleman  had  surprised  upon 
the  face  of  Thorley  Prescott  an  expression  which  made  him 
feel  that  his  young  friend  was  the  one  best  able  to  interpret 
the  Lord's  will  concerning  the  problem  of  the  refugees.  Dr. 
Lawrence  himself  was  not  at  all  embarrassed  by  Thorley's 
refusal  to  lead  in  prayer.  His  hesitation,  which  was  an 
agony  to  several  of  his  colleagues,  was  to  him  only  a 
moment  of  reflection  before  he  should  make  another  choice. 

The  silence  was  still  unbroken  when  the  door  at  the  back 
of  the  lecture-room  burst  open,  and  Sammy  Whiting,  with 
a  mighty  roar,  threw  himself  upon  his  mother,  his  face 
streaming  with  blood.  His  two  sisters  followed  him,  weep- 
ing lustily;  but  the  other  children,  excepting  Edward 
Franklin,  stood  in  an  awe-stricken  group  at  the  door,  won- 
dering how  the  Whitings  could  dare  to  enter  a  Station  meet- 
ing. Not  one  of  them  would  have  done  it  on  pain  of  death. 

The  two  doctors  reached  the  child  before  his  mother  could 
even  turn  pale. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  Mrs.  Whiting,"  said  Dr.  Franklin, 
"it's  nothing  but  nosebleed."  He  swabbed  the  child's 
face  vigorously  with  his  handkerchief,  and  propelled  him 
none  too  gently  toward  the  door. 

"You  come,  too,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Whiting,  laying  hold  of 
Dr.  MacColl.  "I  never  can  get  Dr.  Franklin  to  tell  me 
anything.  Sammy  may  be  disfigured  for  life,  and  he  will 
say  it's  nothing.  What's  that,  Jane?  You  say  he  fell 
from  the  tree  ?  Well,  I  shan't  have  a  moment's  rest  until 
you  have  both  examined  every  inch  of  his  spine." 

The  words  were  spoken  hurriedly,  as  the  two  women  fol- 


THE    STATION  MEETING  9 1 

lowed  Sammy  and  his  guide.  The  little  girls  tagged  after 
them,  hardly  knowing  whether  or  not  to  go  on  crying,  but 
the  other  children  promptly  scattered  to  their  play. 

At  the  Lawrences',  Dr.  Franklin  made  short  work  of  wash- 
ing Sammy's  face. 

"You  see  there's  nothing  the  matter,"  he  said,  ignoring 
Mrs.  Whiting's  tremulous  demand  for  disinfectants.  "The 
skin  isn't  broken  anywhere.  Get  a  wad  of  paper,  Sam,  and 
put  it  under  your  upper  lip.  If  your  nose  begins  to  bleed 
again,  chew.  You  see  it's  stopped  bleeding  already,  Mrs. 
Whiting.  We  may  as  well  go  back  to  the  meeting.  Ted, 
where  were  you  when  this  happened?  Don't  tell  me  you 
can't  stop  nosebleed." 

Edward,  who,  with  his  finger  closed  in  the  leaves  of  his 
book,  had  been  grinning  in  the  background,  now  looked 
sober  enough.  He  foresaw  that  the  rest  of  his  afternoon 
would  be  spent  in  keeping  Sammy  Whiting  out  of  mischief, 
so  with  the  resignation  of  necessity  he  closed  his  book  and 
proposed  a  game  of  dominoes. 

Dr.  MacColl  had  lingered,  hoping  to  take  Mrs.  Whiting 
back  with  her  to  the  meeting.  That  tremulous  parent  hav- 
ing settled  her  son  in  an  arm-chair,  with  cushions  enough 
to  drive  him  distracted,  was  hanging  over  him  ready  to 
pounce  on  any  signs  of  injury  to  the  back. 

"A  mother's  first  duty  is  to  her  child,"  she  declared,  and 
Dr.  MacColl  hurried  for  the  door  lest  she  should  disgrace 
herself  by  laughing  at  the  disgusted  expression  on  Sammy's 
face. 

In  the  hall  she  encountered  Miss  Stuart. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  before  Jean  could  speak.  "There's  been 
a  hubbub ;  but  it's  only  Sammy  Whiting ;  and  it  would  be 
all  over  now,  if  Stella  had  any  sense.  Did  you  mean  what 
you  said  about  those  books?" 

Jean  gasped.  "  Those  first  editions  of  yours  ?  You  said 
they  were  heirlooms." 


Q2  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

"Well,  I  have  to  get  money  if  I  can,"  declared  Dr.  Mac- 
Coll.  "  Of  course  I  don't  want  to  urge  you ;  but  if  you  have 
any  gold  to  spare,  you  may  take  your  choice  of  the  books  or 
buy  'em  all.  I  want  cash." 

"Relief  work,  I  suppose,"  said  Jean,  and  wondered  at  her 
own  impudence. 

"Well,  yes.  I  hear  that  Thorley  Prescott  has  a  plan. 
If  he's  allowed  to  manage  it  his  own  way,  it'll  do  as  much  as 
anything  can.  Now  of  course  I  don't  want  to  urge  you; 
but  you  looked  as  if  you  wanted  that  '  Compleat  Angler.' 
Fifty-one  pounds  would  go  a  long  way." 

Jean  looked  at  her  in  silence  until  the  doctor  grew 
impatient. 

"Come,  come,"  she  said,  "you  know  whether  you  want 
it  or  not." 

"Do  you  suppose,"  said  Jean  slowly,  "that  I  would  be 
the  means  of  your  parting  with  one  of  those  precious 
books?" 

"I'd  rather  you'd  have  'em  than  an  English  Earl.  I'll 
never  be  comfortable  with  'em  again,  now  that  I  know  their 
money  value." 

Jean  turned  her  face  from  the  light  and  cleared  her  throat. 
"I  suppose  you  never  allow  strangers  in  your  meeting," 
she  said;  "I'd  like  to  hear  those  plans  for  relief." 

"Yes,  come  along,"  cried  the  doctor.  "We  can  haggle 
afterwards  about  the  books.  Thorley  may  be  speaking 
now." 


CHAPTER  XIH 

WHILE  THEY  WERE  YET  SPEAKING 

DR.  MACCOLL  opened  the  door  of  the  lecture-room  and 
stopped  short,  motioning  Jean  to  remain  where  she  was  in 
the  corridor.  Over  the  little  lady's  shoulder  Jean  saw  that 
the  missionaries  were  all  on  their  knees  - —  all  but  one,  who  sat 
motionless  in  his  chair.  Jean  knew  that  square  head  and 
those  broad  shoulders,  though  the  face  was  turned  away 
from  her;  and  she  noticed  that  he  sat  as  if  he  were  very 
tired.  She  wondered  mischievously  if  it  could  be  that  he 
were  worn  out  with  piety. 

Now  in  all  her  life  before  Jean  Stuart  herself  had  never 
listened  to  so  much  praying  as  during  her  five  days  in  Mur- 
amna.  She  had  been  brought  up  not  to  attend  church; 
and  though  she  sometimes  went  with  her  friends  when  it 
was  the  courteous  thing  to  do,  the  services  to  which  they 
took  her  had  never  yet  drawn  her  to  go  again  on  her  own 
account.  She  liked  to  hear  the  prayers  in  the  Episcopal 
liturgy  when  they  were  well  read,  because  the  language  was 
so  beautiful  and  the  ideas  so  lofty;  but  the  ordinary  "long 
prayer"  had  no  power  to  hold  even  her  attention.  Once 
or  twice  she  had  been  impressed  with  the  sincerity  of  a 
speaker  who  seemed  to  be  praying  for  his  audience  rather 
than  at  them.  She  remembered,  for  instance,  that  in 
Shiloh  she  had  wondered  whether  Dan  Lawrence  actually 
believed  he  was  speaking  to  Some  One  greater  than  man,  Who 
heard  him.  Now  she  was  perfectly  sure  that  Dan  believed 
in  a  God  Who  heard  his  prayers.  He  and  Dr.  Lawrence 
spoke  to  Him  as  if  He  were  a  friend  right  there  in  the  very 

93 


94  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

room  with  them,  interesting  Himself  in  all  that  concerned 
their  lives.  What  was  stranger  still,  they  seemed  to  expect 
Him  to  answer  them.  All  these  previous  impressions  flashed 
through  her  mind  as  she  discovered  the  voice  that  was  now 
speaking  to  be  that  of  Dan  Lawrence  himself.  And  now, 
as  his  words  began  to  make  their  way  into  her  mind,  she 
could  no  longer  doubt  that  he  fully  expected  an  answer  - 
that  in  fact  he  intended  to  wait  and  get  it  before  he  made  any 
further  plans.  There  was  a  thrill  of  triumph  in  the  way 
he  pronounced  the  words  "for  Jesus'  sake,"  and  she  found 
herself  wondering  if  he  could  ever  explain  to  her  how  it  was 
that  he  had  grown  to  feel  so  sure  of  such  a  mystery  as  this 
idea  of  God. 

The  missionaries  were  rising  from  their  knees  and  Dr. 
MacColl  was  marching  into  the  room.  She  walked  straight 
up  to  Dr.  Lawrence,  while  Jean  quietly  stepped  out  of  sight 
into  the  corridor.  She  heard  Dr.  Lawrence  put  a  question 
to  which  there  was  a  murmur  of  assent.  Then  he  himself 
came  down  to  the  door  and  in  his  stately  way  offered  her 
his  arm. 

"We  are  glad  to  have  you  with  us,"  he  said,  "though 
this  has  been  a  time  of  great  perplexity." 

Jean,  finding  herself  in  a  chair  beside  Dr.  MacColl,  smiled 
at  the  complete  novelty  of  her  position  and  wondered  what 
Robert  Courtlandt  would  say,  if  he  could  see  her.  She  had 
not  glanced  at  Thorley  Prescott  as  she  came  in,  and  she  was 
sitting  now  with  her  back  to  him ;  so  she  was  ignorant  that 
since  he  had  known  of  her  presence,  every  line  of  his  figure 
and  face  had  changed. 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet,  "I  have 
a  plan  for  relief  work.  Would  you  care  to  hear  it  ?  " 

Dr.  MacColl  jumped  up.  "I  move  that  Mr.  Thorley 
Prescott  be  asked  to  tell  his  plan  in  detail;  and  be  a  little 
generous  with  your  words,"  she  added,  with  a  sharp  glance 
at  Thorley  as  she  sat  down. 


WHILE    THEY    WERE   YET    SPEAKING  95 

Thorley  gave  one  suppressed  chuckle,  as  Dan  Lawrence 
seconded  the  motion ;  and  he  was  still  smiling  when  it  had 
been  carried  and  he  rose  to  address  the  meeting.  But  the 
meeting  to  him  just  then  consisted  of  one  person  only ;  and 
he  openly  shifted  his  position  until  he  could  face  her  while 
speaking. 

"If  we  had  a  thousand  dollars,"  said  Thorley  Fresco tt, 
"  we  could  make  water-pipes  at  Akbar.  I  found  last  summer 
that  the  clay  there  is  just  the  thing  for  pottery,  so  I  had  a 
lot  of  it  put  under  shelter  in  the  cellars  of  the  old  Seminary 
buildings.  It's  packed  around  with  hay,  and  it  won't  freeze 
this  winter  unless  the  weather  is  unusually  severe.  In  our 
three  houses  on  the  mountain  we  could  lodge  at  least  fifty 
men." 

"Fifty  men,"  protested  George  Whiting,  "that's  packing 
them  in  pretty  tight." 

"Natives  can  sleep  on  the  ground  floor,  you  know,"  an- 
swered Thorley,  "but  we'll  say  forty.  That  allows  room 
for  a  cook-house  and  a  general  dining-room.  If  the  mild 
weather  holds  (and  the  ground  hasn't  even  frozen  since 
that  one  snow-storm),  we  can  easily  run  up  walls  to  connect 
the  houses.  That  would  give  us  two  more  dwellings  each 
about  twice  as  large  as  the  old  ones.  You  can  reckon  to 
suit  yourselves ;  but  I  make  it  that  we'd  have  room  for  one 
hundred  and  fifty  men.  Now  for  the  water-pipes.  We'd 
roof  in  the  old  Seminary  buildings,  very  roughly  of  course, 
make  a  lot  of  wooden  moulds,  set  a  few  potters'  wheels 
a-going,  use  the  two  old  brick  ovens  for  kilns,  and  turn  out 
several  hundred  pipes  a  day.  Meantime  we'd  build  a  small 
reservoir  and  save  the  spring  water  till  warmer  weather 
when  we'd  dig  a  trench  down  to  the  College,  continue  it  to 
the  city,  and  have  pure,  fresh  drinking  water  in  every  one 
of  our  houses." 

The  housewives  turned  to  look  at  each  other  with  expres- 
sions of  joyful  bewilderment. 


96  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Then  the  result  of  this  work  would  be  merely  a  very 
great  luxury  for  ourselves,  obtained  at  an  enormous  cost?" 
The  voice  was  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Prescott. 

"A  thousand  dollars,"  said  George  Whiting,  "large 
though  it  seems,  now  when  we  haven't  it,  would  hardly  run 
such  an  industry  all  winter." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Thorley.  "I'm  planning  to  make 
money.  You  know  that  since  the  last  cholera  scare,  even 
the  Mohammedans  have  been  more  careful  about  drinking 
the  water  from  the  river.  It  runs  in  under  their  houses," 
he  explained  turning  again  to  Miss  Stuart,  "and  stands  in 
open  receptacles  called  shakeetas.  Of  course  it's  just  about 
as  filthy  as  water  can  be  and  flow.  They  used  to  laugh  at 
us  because  we  had  our  drinking  water  and  our  cooking  water 
carried  from  our  own  springs ;  but  I  find  that  a  good  many 
of  the  wealthy  families  have  taken  to  doing  the  same  thing. 
But  it's  an  awful  nuisance,  because  it  makes  no  end  of  extra 
work  for  the  servants.  They  hate  it  and  substitute  con- 
taminated water  whenever  they  can.  I  believe  I  could 
persuade  at  least  ten  men  in  Muramna  to  buy  water-pipes 
even  before  we  got  our  own  pipe  line  into  working  order.  I 
was  talking  it  over  the  other  day  with  Hassan  Mirza  Khan, 
and  he  said  if  we  ever  did  such  a  thing,  he'd  want  pipes 
enough  to  go  from  his  summer  home  to  his  palace  in  the  city. 
Two  or  three  orders  like  that  would  keep  us  going  all  winter, 
and  pay  for  our  own  waterworks." 

"It  sounds  fine,"  said  Dr.  Franklin,  "but  what's  the  use 
of  talking  about  it  when  we  haven't  got  the  thousand  dol- 
lars? I  suppose  you  couldn't  get  Hassan  Mirza  Khan  to 
advance  the  money?" 

"Owe  money  to  a  Moslem?"  groaned  Miss  Oddfellow. 

"Not  money,  only  water-pipes,"  answered  the  doctor. 

There  was  a  grim  smile  on  Thorley  Prescott's  face.  "I 
did  think  one  day  I  had  him  worked  up  to  just  that.  But 
when  we  came  down  to  details,  there  was  so  much  pishkesh 


WHILE  THEY   WERE  YET   SPEAKING  97 

and  so  many  other  exactions  that  I  thought  I'd  rather  wait 
until  I  was  in  a  position  to  make  terms  myself." 

Jean  Stuart  now  spoke.     "May  I  ask  a  question?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Thorley,  without  waiting  for  the  Chair. 

"If  you  started  this  work,  what  would  become  of  the 
wives  and  children  of  these  men  ?" 

"As  soon  as  the  men  are  earning  money,"  Thorley  an- 
swered, "there'll  be  no  trouble  in  finding  lodgings  for  their 
families.  There's  a  deserted  village  on  the  mountain-side 
very  near  our  place;  and  I  have  it  in  mind  that  many  of 
the  families  will  be  brought  there.  Later  the  men  could 
live  with  them,  if  it  was  more  convenient.  But  lots  of  fami- 
lies are  still  starving  in  their  old  homes,  while  the  men  have 
come  to  forage  in  the  city.  Arrangements  will  have  to  be 
made  for  food  to  be  sent  them." 

"You  seem  to  have  considered  everything,"  said  Jean. 

"Do  you  like  the  plan  ?"  asked  Thorley. 

The  rest  of  the  Station  sat  aghast,  all  but  Dr.  MacColl. 
Several  of  them  thought  it  unseemly  that  a  stranger  should 
have  been  admitted  to  a  Station  meeting.  Several  more 
were  scandalized  at  the  informal  proceedings  that  were 
upsetting  all  their  routine.  Very  few  had  any  hope  that 
Thorley  Prescott's  plans  would  ever  come  to  anything.  In 
their  amazement  at  his  talking  so  much,  they  had  little  idea 
of  what  the  plans  really  were.  They  only  knew  that  every- 
thing hinged  on  the  tremendous  and  non-existent  sum  of  one 
thousand  dollars. 

"I  should  think,"  said  Jean  conversationally  to  Dr.  Mac- 
Coll,  "that  you'd  vote  to  adopt  these  plans  in  case  you  can 
get  the  thousand  dollars.  Of  course,  you'd  place  Mr. 
Prescott  at  the  head  of  the  work ;  but  then  who  would  tend 
to  the  Treasury  and  write  that  paper?" 

Dan  Lawrence  heard  her.  It  flashed  through  his  mind 
that  his  prayer  was  being  answered  then  and  there.  He  rose 
and  addressed  the  Chair :  — 


98  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"I  move  that  Mr.  Thorley  Prescott's  plans  for  the  water- 
pipe  industry  at  Akbar  be  carried  out  as  soon  as  the  neces- 
sary funds  can  be  collected ;  that  Mr.  Thorley  Prescott  be 
given  full  management  of  all  the  arrangements;  and  that 
his  present  work,  while  he  is  otherwise  occupied,  be  divided 
among  the  rest  of  us." 

"Second  the  motion,"  said  Dr.  MacColl. 

"You  have  heard  the  motion,  brethren,"  announced  Dr. 
Lawrence.  "Are  you  ready  for  the  question  ?" 

"Question  !"  shouted  Thorley  Prescott;  and  the  question 
was  put. 

There  were  four  affirmative  votes  and  none  for  the 
negative. 

"The  motion  is  carried,"  said  Dr.  Lawrence  rather  be- 
wildered. 

Jean  Stuart  had  been  whispering  to  Dr.  MacColl ;  and 
the  sturdy  little  doctor  now  rose,  tears  filling  her  keen  dark 
eyes. 

"I  am  asked  to  announce,"  she  said,  "that  the  necessary 
funds  have  been  collected.  One  thousand  dollars  in  French 
gold  is  at  the  immediate  disposal  of  the  Mission  Treasurer." 

Half  an  hour  later  Thorley  Prescott  was  taking  Miss 
Stuart  back  to  the  Lawrence  house. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "I  feel  ashamed.  Dan  took 
the  trouble  to  pray.  He  knew  there  was  an  answer  coming 
and  he  deserved  it ;  but  look  who's  getting  the  lion's  share 
of  Dan's  answer." 

Miss  Stuart  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  "Do  you  be- 
lieve that  his  praying  had  anything  to  do  with  it  ?" 

Thorley  Prescott  smiled  in  the  way  she  liked  to  see.  "  If 
I  don't,"  he  declared,  "I'm  the  only  one  of  the  whole  bunch 
that  doesn't.  You'll  see  what  Dr.  Lawrence  says  to  you. 
Rather  hard  to  give  a  whopping  present,  isn't  it,  and  have 
it  all  attributed  to  the  Lord  ?  " 


WHILE   THEY   WERE   YET   SPEAKING  99 

Jean  gratified  him  by  making  the  little  sound  as  he  fol- 
lowed her  into  the  sitting-room.  Dr.  Lawrence  was  there, 
peering  eagerly  out  of  the  window.  As  he  heard  the  door 
open,  he  came  over  to  her  with  both  hands  out. 

"God  answered  us,"  he  said,  "while  we  were  yet  speak- 
ing ;  and  you  are  the  answer." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THEIR  IDEA  OF  FUN 

"So  you've  lived  through  the  week,"  said  Dr.  MacColl, 
stopping  Jean  Stuart  in  the  passage  outside  her  schoolroom 
which  was  in  Dr.  Franklin's  house.  "How  are  you  going 
to  like  this  business  of  teaching  ?  " 

"The  children  are  charming;  that  is,  most  of  them  are." 
Jean  smiled  a  little  in  answer  to  the  twinkle  in  the  doctor's 
eye.  "But,"  she  added,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  "what 
/  don't  know!" 

"You  know  the  subjects  you're  supposed  to  impart?" 

"  Oh  yes,  at  least  I  know  how  to  get  to  know  them.  But 
how  to  impart  them !  Those  children  are  so  different. 
Some  of  them  soak  in  knowledge  like  little  sponges.  For 
others,  you  have  to  take  every  bit  of  information  apart  and 
pound  in  each  separate  piece  like  a  tack.  Some  of  them 
are  awfully  sensitive ;  and  at  the  least  hint  of  disapproval, 
they  melt  into  tears ;  one  or  two  are  so  thick-skinned  that 
nothing  but  a  vigorous  application  of  a  competent  stick 
would  make  the  slightest  impression.  But  I  mustn't  stand 
here  gossiping  with  you ;  Ruth  and  Danny  are  waiting  for 
me." 

"I  want  you  to  stay  and  lunch  with  me." 

"Really  ?    How  nice  of  you  !" 

"You'll  come,  then?" 

"Indeed  I  will.  Just  let  me  speak  to  the  children.  It's 
all  right  for  them  to  ride  home  alone  with  Hilgar,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Oh,  certainly." 


THEIR   IDEA   OF   FUN  IOI 

"Do  you  know?"  said  Jean,  sitting  back  in  her  chair, 
"I've  eaten  two  bowls  of  this  sour  milk  - 

"Do  call  it  mesta"  interrupted  the  doctor. 

" —  as  well  as  several  square  feet  of  bread.  What  do  you 
call  that?" 

"Lawask." 

"  It's  good,  isn't  it  ?  What  a  relish  one  has  for  food  when 
one  has  to  work  all  the  morning,  whether  or  no  !" 

Dr.  MacColl  smiled.  "It's  rather  pathetic  that  you 
should  have  lived  so  long  without  finding  that  out.  You 
should  have  been  put  to  work  at  something  interesting  five 
years  ago  at  least." 

"This  is  a  place  where  one  is  not  likely  to  be  hurt  by 
flattery!" 

"Wait  until  you  know  the  language.  The  natives  will 
lay  it  on  thick  enough.  Are  you  going  to  begin  with  Syriac 
or  Turkish?" 

Jean's  eyes  opened  wide.  "Why  should  I  learn  either? 
If  I  were  to  attack  a  language,  Persian  would  be  more  in 
my  line.  I  like  the  Classics  pretty  well,  in  spite  of  having 
been  subjected  to  them  in  early  youth  by  Grandfather 
Jonathan." 

"  Dry  bones  ! "  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "  I  refer,  of  course, 
to  the  Classics.  What's  the  use  of  your  learning  Persian  ? 
Nobody  speaks  it  now.  Whereas,  if  you  understand  only 
a  little  Turkish,  you'll  be  able  to  go  into  Moslem  houses 
and  get  at  the  women.  I  have  a  notion  that  you'd  be  very 
clever  at  it.  Besides,  the  natives  all  consider  you  a  great 
lady ;  and  that's  one  thing  we're  very  much  in  need  of  among 
the  Mohammedans,  prestige,  'giddy  prestige,  by  Gum.'" 

The  doctor  stopped  short,  looking  very  guilty  as  a  peal 
of  laughter  broke  from  Jean.  "Quoting  Stalky  !"  she  cried. 
"That  vulgar,  delicious  Stalky;  and  in  a  nefarious  attempt 
to  coerce  a  much-abused  fellow-creature  into  a  line  of  effort 
for  which  she  has  not  the  slightest  taste.  I'd  be  glad  to  go 


102  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

and  look  at  Mohammedan  women  in  their  homes  (I'm 
told  they're  a  sight ;  and  sight-seeing  is,  after  all,  the  legit- 
imate sphere  of  a  tourist,  which  I  am) ;  but  I  see  myself 
trying  to  influence  them  !  What  shall  I  influence  them  to  ? 
I  haven't  as  much  religion  as  they  have;  and  if  I  had,  it 
probably  wouldn't  be  half  as  helpful  to  them  as  their  own. 
Why  can't  you  leave  the  poor  things  alone?  You  can't 
emancipate  them ;  and  you  will  only  make  them  discon- 
tented in  their  seclusion." 

The  doctor  shook  her  head  with  a  look  more  sorrowful 
than  Jean  had  ever  seen  on  her  keen  face.  "Ever  read 
the  Koran  ?  "  she  asked. 

"About  as  much  as  I  had  read  the  Bible  till  I  came  here. 
I  thought  that  rather  interesting  at  morning  prayers  as  it 
told  about  the  life  of  Christ.  But  now  I'm  getting  an  over- 
dose. I've  been  to  church  since  I  came,  I  should  say,  about 
seventeen  times.  They  give  me  an  English  Bible  with  the 
places  picked  out,  so  I  can  follow  the  service.  There's 
nothing  else  to  do,  and  I  read  to  pass  away  the  time." 

"But  always  at  some  other  place,"  interrupted  the  doctor. 

Jean  acknowledged  this  comment  by  breaking  into  one 
of  her  most  confidential  smiles.  "Mrs.  Prescott  offered 
to  prescribe  for  me  a  course  of  daily  readings." 

Dr.  MacColl  scowled,  muttering  under  her  breath  an 
ejaculation  that  ended  with  the  word  business,  hissed  out 
with  a  vicious  emphasis  that  made  it  more  distinct  than 
she  realized. 

Jean  Stuart,  with  a  feeling  of  gratification,  went  on,  "I 
told  her  that  when  I  felt  the  need  of  independent  daily  read- 
ings, I  should  reserve  the  privilege  of  going  to  a  clergyman. 
I  don't  think  she  liked  it  very  well,  but  she  hasn't  talked 
to  me  since  about  reading  the  Bible.  And  now  the  parents 
say  there  must  always  be  a  portion  of  it  read  at  the  opening 
of  school.  I  told  Mr.  Whiting  I  thought  it  a  waste  of  time, 
seeing  that  the  children  got  so  much  of  it  at  home.  He 


THEIR   IDEA   OF   FUN  103 

wasn't  pleased,  either.  I  should  have  loved  to  fight  it  out 
with  him;  but  of  course  he  is  a  parent  and  the  others  all 
agreed  with  him ;  so  I  gave  in.  They  said  I  must  have  a 
prayer,  too,  and  Mr.  Whiting,  busy  as  he  is  with  that  whole 
College,  offered  to  come  and  make  the  prayer  every  morning, 
if  I  felt  unequal  to  the  responsibility.  I  did  feel  unequal ; 
but  rather  than  have  him  poking  in  every  morning,  I  was 
going  to  say  I'd  do  it,  when  Mr.  Lawrence  came  to  my  rescue 
by  suggesting  that  the  Lord's  prayer,  repeated  in  unison, 
would  be  sufficient;  and  after  some  discussion  the  others 
consented.  I  should  think  it  would  be  difficult  even  for 
Mrs.  Prescott  to  object  when  he  suggests  anything.  He  is 
the  dearest  man  !" 

"  Isn't  he  ?  "  cried  Dr.  MacColl.  "  I  don't  know  what  we 
should  do  without  him." 

"Amy  Lea  told  me  afterward,  with  a  face  as  long  as  the 
moral  law,  that  Mrs.  Whiting  feared  I  was  almost  as  irreli- 
gious as  Mr.  Thorley  Prescott.  She  (Miss  Lea)  wished, 
as  a  friend,  to  give  me  the  opportunity  of  contradicting 
it." 

"What  did  you  say?"  the  doctor  leaned  forward  in  her 
interest. 

"I  said  I  admired  Mr.  Prescott  very  much  and  should 
not  dream  of  declaring  myself  superior  to  him  in  any  way. 
I  presume  the  little  idiot  went  straight  back  and  told  Mrs. 
Whiting  that  I  am  in  love  with  the  Thunderer ;  for  they  have 
both  regarded  me  ever  since  with  a  horrified  interest,  and 
Mrs.  Prescott  is  more  unpleasant  than  before,  if  possible. 
What  is  the  matter  with  Thorley  Prescott,  anyway  ?  Why 
does  he  stay  here  if  he's  so  vitally  different  from  the  rest  of 
you  ?  That  man  ought  to  be  digging  the  Big  Canal  or  mak- 
ing the  bridge  across  Behring  Strait,  or  running  the  War 
Department — I  believe  he'd  like  that  best  of  all,  except  in 
times  of  peace  —  but  here  he  sits  frowsting  in  a  two  by  four 
treasury,  getting  out  a  weekly  sheet  of  drivel  on  a  foot- 


104  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

power  press  twenty  years  old,  and  beside  himself  with  joy 
because  he  can  get  out  for  a  few  weeks  and  stand  over  a 
handful  of  ragamuffins  while  they  make  mud  water-pipes 
with  a  homemade  wooden  mould !  It  enrages  me  to  see 
such  a  Man  with  all  his  splendid  powers  going  to  waste  !" 

"A  sorrowful  sight,  indeed." 

"Would  you  be  glad,  then,  if  he  got  a  chance  to  do  some- 
thing different  ?" 

"He  couldn't  take  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"You  would  like  to  have  me  tell  you  about  Thorley  Pres- 
cott,  —  the  circumstances  that  led  to  his  being  a  missionary 
here,  and  that  make  it  impossible  for  him  ever  to  be  anything 
else?" 

Jean  was  silent  a  moment;  then  she  raised  her  eyes  to 
Doctor  MacColTs.  "No,"  she  said,  "if  there  is  a  mystery 
about  his  life,  I'd  rather  hear  it  from  him." 

"There  is  no  mystery;  and  I  doubt  if  he  will  ever  tell 
you,  but  —  oh,  well,  it  is  rather  like  talebearing,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Jean  laughed.  "Mrs.  Lawrence  started  one  evening  in 
the  kindliest  way  to  tell  me  about  him ;  and  I  stopped  her 
short.  Just  the  same  I  wish  you  had  told  me  without  wait- 
ing to  ask  whether  I  cared  to  bend  my  soul  to  gossip.  I 
would  like  to  know  about  him.  I  find  him  very  interesting ; 
and  as  you  say,  I  am  not  likely  to  extract  many  confidences 
from  himself.  How  he  did  set  me  down  at  Thanksgiving 
dinner  !  And  yet,  I  really  think  he  rather  likes  me  !" 

Dr.  MacColl  chuckled.  "I  knew  you  were  made  of  good 
stuff,"  she  declared.  "I  suppose  in  all  your  life  before, 
you  have  never  come  to  the  bar  of  public  opinion  as  a  naked 
soul." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  said  Miss  Stuart,  "what  would  my  Aunt 
Cordelia  say?" 

"Quite  so,"  the  doctor  agreed,  "she  wouldn't  like  it  for 
you  at  all;  but  I  say,  it's  an  excellent  thing  for  a  human 


THEIR   IDEA   OF   FUN  105 

being  to  be  stripped,  for  once,  of  all  the  advantages  or  dis- 
advantages of  his  social  position  and  stand  or  fall  before  a 
jury  of  his  fellow-beings,  entirely  on  his  own  intrinsic 
worth." 

"That's  a  large  thought,"  said  Jean,  rippling  with  amuse- 
ment. "Let  me  see,  am  I  standing  or  falling?  The  Whit- 
ings are  rather  cool;  but  you  and  the  Lawrences  and  the 
Franklins  are  delightfully  warm.  Miss  Oddfellow  and  Miss 
Trench  are  civil ;  and  little  Miss  Lea  doesn't  know  as  yet 
which  tack  to  take.  As  for  Mrs.  Prescott,  she  frankly 
hates  me ;  but  then,  I  consider  one  good  enemy  an  invalu- 
able social  asset ;  and  she,  if  you  will  pardon  my  saying  so, 
is  a  corker." 

"By  the  way,  if  you  want  help  about  methods  of  teaching, 
Mrs.  Prescott  is  the  one  to  ask.  She  has  read  every  book 
on  Pedagogy  that  ever  wasted  printers'  ink;  and  in  spite 
of  it,  she's  the  best  teacher  I  ever  saw." 

"That  Medusa!" 

"See  here,  you're  not  to  call  names  about  my  colleagues." 

"Look  at  me."  Jean  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  doctor. 
One  arm  went  over  the  back  of  the  chair  while  the  other 
touched  the  doctor's  knee.  The  gray  eyes  were  so  close 
that  the  doctor  could  see  the  black  circle  around  each  iris 
and  the  little  golden  spots  that  gleamed  far  below  the  sur- 
face with  the  light  that  one  discovers  at  the  bottom  of  a 
mountain  brook.  Then,  under  the  scrutiny  of  the  black 
eyes,  the  pupils  of  the  gray  eyes  enlarged  until  one  pair  of 
eyes  was  no  blacker  than  the  other  and  both  were  full  of  the 
light  of  a  good  new  friendship.  Then  Jean's  face  changed 
again.  In  an  instant  it  was  all  mischief,  coaxing,  bewitching. 

"You  don't  mind  it  then,  so  awfully  much,  my  calling 
her  the  Medusa?" 

But  the  doctor  hardened  her  heart  and  shook  her  head. 

In  a  flash  there  came  another  change:  the  gray  eyes 
saddened,  and  the  white  lids  shut  over  them  like  a  curtain 


106  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

suddenly  drawn  to  keep  from  a  night-wanderer  the  glow  of 
a  happy  home.  Bending  her  head,  Jean  brushed  with  her 
lips  the  doctor's  square,  hard-working  little  hand ;  and,  as 
she  rose  from  her  knees,  she  said  penitently,  "No,  after  all, 
I  hadn't  the  right  to  explode.  You  are  —  one  of  them, 
and  I,  as  you  say,  am  only  the  naked  soul  of  a  stranger 
standing  outside ;  and  why,  after  all,  should  I  specially  care 
to  come  in?"  The  head  lifted  itself  again  with  its  natural 
pride;  and  Dr.  Flora  MacColl,  formerly  of  Schenectady, 
saw  confronting  her  for  the  moment,  a  personage  no  other 
than  the  Miss  Stuart  of  New  York  and  Bar  Harbor. 

Not  one  whit  overawed,  the  doctor  rose  and,  reaching  up, 
put  her  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  Miss  Stuart.  "  My  dear," 
she  said,  "I  was  wrong  to  stop  you.  With  me,  if  you  won't 
tell  that  I  like  it,  you  may  call  us  all  the  names  you  can  think 
of.  Melissa  shall  be  the  Medusa  and  Dr.  Franklin  the 
Monster.  I'll  be  the  Gnome,  if  you  say  so.  You'll  have  to 
do  something  to  let  off  steam,  if  you're  going  to  teach  all 
winter  under  the  supervision  of  George  Whiting.  And  let 
me  tell  you,"  she  whispered,  mounting  a  footstool  to  ap- 
proach Jean's  ear.  "  I'd  need  to  blow  off  boilers  of  steam, 
if  I  lived  next  door  to  the  Medusa  and  in  the  bosom  of  that 
goldily  good  Lawrence  family.  I  adore  every  one  of  'em 
from  the  Doctor  to  Danny ;  but  I  can't  live  up  to  'em,  can 
you?" 

Jean  laughed  merrily.  "Oh,  the  tact  of  her,"  she  cried. 
"Who  would  have  thought  it  of  a  lady  so  outspoken  !  And 
that's  the  heart  of  your  tact,  that  you've  done  me  the  honor 
to  speak  out  to  me.  You've  divined  just  how  I  feel  about 
the  Lawrences ;  and  yet,  do  you  know,  sometimes  I  think 
that  Danny  would  like  to  be  almost  as  naughty  as  I  feel  ? 
Even  I  don't  act  naughty  at  the  Lawrences',  not  very ;  why, 
I've  learned  already  not  to  talk  when  they  want  to  ask  the 
blessing !" 

She  looked  like  a  penitent  child ;  and  Dr.  MacColl  felt, 


THEIR   IDEA   OF   FUN  107 

for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  like  an  indulgent  grandmother. 
"You  are  good,  and  as  a  reward  you  shall  go  round  my 
hospital  with  me." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Jean,  hanging  back.  "I  told  you  I 
loathed  seeing  people  suffer,  especially  children  !  Are  there 
children  ?  I  can't  see  them." 

"We-e-ell,"  said  the  doctor  slowly,  "but  I  thought  you 
would  be  interested.  It's  such  a  wonderful  work.  They're 
so  comfortable  —  so  different  from  the  ones  you  see  on  the 
streets.  You'll  have  to  excuse  me,  then.  Wait  until  I 
come  back,  and  we'll  ride  together  to  the  city.  Dr.  Frank- 
lin is  going,  too." 

Jean  followed  her  to  the  door.  "Another  day  please  ask 
me  again,"  she  said  wistfully,  "I  can't  get  used  to  so  much 
goodness  quite  all  at  once ;  you  said  so  yourself,  you  know." 

"But  this  work  of  mine  isn't  good,"  declared  the  doctor, 
"so  much  as  it's  just  interesting." 

"Ah,  that's  it,  precisely,"  said  Jean.  "It's  nuts  to  you. 
To  me  it  is  the  most  squalid  kind  of  drudgery.  Who  was  it 
that  'went  about  doing  good?'  Well,  that's  your  idea  of 
fun." 

"It  was  Jesus  Christ,"  said  the  doctor,  tucking  her  in- 
struments under  her  arm ;  and  as  she  turned  to  trudge  away, 
she  added  under  her  breath,  " '  whose  I  am,  and  whom  I 
serve.' " 

Jean  Stuart,  watching  the  square  little  back  until  it  dis- 
appeared, was  surprised  to  feel  a  lump  rising  hi  her  throat. 


CHAPTER  XV 

OUR  WORK 

ON  her  return  from  the  College,  Miss  Stuart  was  met  at 
the  Lawrences'  door  by  Danny. 

"I  knew  I'd  see  you  when  you  came,"  he  exulted.  " Ruth 
said  I'd  be  thinking  of  something  else  by  that  time  and  for- 
get to  be  watching.  Uncle  Thor  is  here  —  up  in  Papa's 
study;  and  Papa  said  when  you  came,  please  to  ask  you 
please  to  go  up  and  look  at  some  plans." 

"What  kind  of  plans,  and  why  do  they  want  me  ?  Come 
up  to  my  room  while  I  take  off  my  hat,  and  tell  me  all  you 
know  about  it." 

"We-e-ell,"  said  Danny,  following  her  with  a  droll  im- 
portance in  every  motion  and  inflection,  and  a  very  laborious 
pronunciation  of  the  words  evidently  quoted  from  his  elders, 
"We-e-ell,  I  guess  it's  for  quarters  at  Akbar,  'cause  I  heard 
Uncle  Thor  say  something  like  that.  What  a  good  example 
in  'rithmetic  it  would  make,  wouldn't  it  ?  "  Danny  paused 
to  rub  his  lips  together  with  a  relish  he  always  felt  for  any 
product  of  his  active  brain.  "If  a  lady  gives  a  thousand 
dollars,  how  many  quarters  does  that  make  ?  " 

"Child  alive!"  cried  Miss  Stuart,  "what  do  you  know 
about  that  thousand  dollars?  One  would  think  it  was  a 
million!" 

"Mamma  said  you  gave  it;  and  she  pretty  near  cried 
when  she  told  me.  I  asked  her  what  Papa  was  thanking 
the  Lord  for  so  much  at  prayers  the  other  morning.  I 
never  heard  him  thank  Him  so  awfully  much  except  after 
I  fell  off  the  roof  and  wasn't  hurt  except  bumped  a  little. 

108 


OUR   WORK 

You  look  all  ready,  I  should  think.  I  kind  of  like  to  see 
your  hair  mussed  up  all  the  time,  now  that  I'm  used  to  it. 
But  Mamma  never  puts  flour  on  her  face.  It  seems  waste- 
ful, 'specially  when  you  rub  it  all  off  again." 

Jean  caught  the  little  fellow  up,  and  stood  him  on  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  "I've  a  great  mind  to  run  off  with  you," 
she  said.  "What  do  we  care  for  plans  or  quarters  or  school 
or  anything?  I'll  get  a  camel  or  two,  and  we'll  just  go 
galumphing  over  the  desert  till  we  come  to  a  place  where 
they  fish  for  pearls,  and  then  — 

Danny  gave  a  sudden  jerk  and  let  himself  fall  down 
backward  on  the  bed,  kicking  his  heels  in  the  air  to  prolong 
the  bounce.  "My,  that  was  fun!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
never  dared  to  do  it  before.  But  you  make  me  feel  all  nice 
and  tingly  —  as  if  I  could  do  most  anything.  I  think 
myself  you're  a  pretty  good  teacher." 

Jean's  laughter  rippled  merrily  out.  "That's  the  first 
compliment  I've  had  since  I  came  here.  You  make  me  feel 
as  if  I  were  back  in  dear  little  old  New  York." 

"Did  you  teach  school  in  New  York?" 

"Mercy  no!" 

"Not  even  Sunday  School?" 

"Still  less." 

"That's  one  queer  thing  about  you,"  Danny,  seated 
Persian  fashion  on  the  bed,  surveyed  his  teacher  with  the 
air  of  a  judge  in  a  juvenile  court,  "you  don't  seem  to  know 
much  about  Christianity.  I  should  think  you  were  a  Mos- 
lem or  something  just  as  niggerent.  When  we  read  round 
at  prayers  the  other  day,  you  looked  for  John  in  the  Old 
Testament.  I  saw  you.  Mary  Freyer  thinks  we  ought  to 
pray  for  you  to  be  converted."  Jean  started  and  opened 
her  mouth,  but  Danny  went  right  on  talking.  Jean  closed 
her  mouth  so  that  the  corners  turned  down  a  little  and 
stood  before  the  Court  with  hands  meekly  folded  and  the 
eyes  of  a  child  intent  on  further  mischief.  "Mary  Freyer 


110  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

wanted  us  to  have  a  prayer-meeting  every  day  at  recess; 
but  Edward  Franklin  got  mad,  and  wouldn't  tell  us  why,  and 
went  off  saying  something,  I  think  it  was  '  Rot ' ;  but  I 
don't  know  what  that  means;  and  Sammy  Whiting  said 
he  couldn't  waste  his  recess  prayin',  and  he  went  off ;  and 
Edith  Franklin  said  she  didn't  think  it  would  be  very  re- 
spectful to  pray  for  our  teacher  behind  her  back ;  and  Caro- 
line said  she  never  prayed  except  to  her  mother  —  but  that 
isn't  right,  'cause  you  pray  to  God,  an'  I  told  her  so,  and 
she  began  to  cry ;  and  then  the  bell  rang,  and  when  we  came 
in  you  said  we  looked  cold,  and  why  hadn't  we  run  around 
more?  and  you'd  have  to  come  out  yourself  and  show  us 
how  to  play  games,  and  had  we  ever  played  Poison  Tag  ? 
We-e-e-11,  I  s'pose  if  you're  ready,  you'd  better  go  along  to 
Papa's  study,  but  you're  a  nawfully  interesting  person  to 
talk  to.  Did  anybody  else  ever  tell  you  that  ?  " 

Jean  nodded.     "In  New  York,"  she  murmured. 

"Well,  I'm  not  the  only  one  that  thinks  so  here.  I  heard 
Mamma  tell  Papa  that  she  never  heard  Uncle  Thor  talk  so 
much  as  he  did  last  Sunday  at  supper  when  you  asked  them 
about  Russia  and  England.  And  Papa  said,  Well,  he'd 
talked  a  good  deal  himself,  and  that  it  was  easy  enough  to 
talk  when  any  one  listened  as  you  did  and  kind  of  egged  a 
fellow  on,  that's  what  he  said.  And  Mamma  said  — " 

"There,  my  boy,"  said  Miss  Stuart,  coming  to  herself. 
"I  wouldn't  tell  any  more.  You  know  it's  never  wise  to 
repeat  what  people  say;  and  besides,  I  must  go  to  the 
study." 

"Well,  you  did  stop  me  just  in  time,  if  you  like  only  com- 
pliments," said  Danny,  "for  Mamma  said  — 

Jean  held  up  her  hand  and  then  ran  out  of  the  room  to 
keep  from  hearing  any  more.  As  she  knocked  at  the  study 
door  she  told  herself,  "That's  the  second  time  to-day  that 
I've  been  almost  more  of  a  lady  than  the  law  demands." 

A  gruff  voice  called  "Come  in,"  and  as  Jean  entered,  a 


OUR   WORK  III 

stalwart  person  rose  from  the  Morris  chair  with  an  energy 
that  caused  all  its  infirm  joints  to  creak. 

"So  you've  come  at  last,"  said  the  voice  with  its  gruffness 
not  very  much  diminished. 

"Isn't  Mr.  Lawrence  here ?  I  understood  he  wanted  me 
to  look  at  some  plans." 

"  I  wanted  you.  I've  been  waiting  hours.  If  I'm  scalped 
on  the  way  back  to-night  it  will  be  your  fault." 

Jean  laughed.  "That's  one  thing  I  do  know,"  she  said. 
"Persians  don't  scalp.  But  if  you  must  return  to-night, 
perhaps  we  had  better  get  to  business  at  once." 

"  How  do  you  know  it's  business  ?  "  said  Thorley  Prescott, 
with  a  kind  of  smile  Miss  Stuart  had  never  before  seen  on 
his  face.  "How  do  you  know  I  didn't  ride  down  just  for 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  your  face?" 

"Well,"  said  Jean,  "I  should  like  to  flatter  myself,  of 
course,  but  I  happened  to  hear  Mr.  Lawrence  say  at  break- 
fast that  he  was  to  help  you  to-day  in  the  Treasury.  Is  he 
always  the  one  that  finishes  up  what  the  rest  can't  do  ?" 

"That's  about  it." 

"But  what  are  your  workmen  doing  at  Akbar?  I  hear 
your  old  houses  are  full  of  them." 

"Thirty- three,  up  to  date.  I  left  Freyer  sitting  on  the 
lid." 

"Is  he  good  at  that  sort  of  thing?  I  should  think  he 
would  be  of  more  help  in  the  Treasury." 

A  look  of  amusement  spread  over  Prescott's  face.  "Got 
us  all  labelled  and  sorted,  have  you?" 

Jean  blushed.  "Well,  no,"  she  said  slowly,  "not  all  of 
you." 

Prescott  laughed.  "I'd  give  my  old  pipe  to  see  your  letters 
home,"  he  said. 

"That  offer  puts  the  climax  on  an  overwhelming  day. 
I  have  had,"  she  counted  them  off  on  her  fingers,  "an  in- 
vitation to  lunch,  two  compliments  from  a  pupil,  and  the 


112  THE    GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

news  that  a  prayer-meeting  was  all  but  formed  for  my  ex- 
clusive benefit." 

"A  prayer-meeting  !    What  in  thunder  !" 

"No,  in  the  Franklin's  garden  at  recess." 

"Oh,  the  children.  I  thought"  -he  paused,  biting  at 
his  short  mustache. 

"You  thought  what?" 

"Nothing." 

He  dived  into  his  pocket  and  brought  out  a  paper.  "I 
thought  you  would  like  to  see  how  the  work  is  getting  on. 
I  told  you  we  had  thirty-three  men.  They  are  lodged  in 
these  old  houses  which  we  ourselves  use  in  the  summer." 
He  showed  her  a  sketch  with  three  rectangles  in  a  row, 
separated  by  spaces  about  twice  the  width  of  one  rect- 
angle. 

"This,"  he  went  on,  pointing  to  a  rectangle  at  one  end, 
"we  use  as  a  cook-house.  The  men  eat  downstairs,  and  for 
the  present  Freyer  and  I  live  in  the  second  story.  We're 
building  walls  to  connect  the  three  houses.  In  a  couple  of 
weeks,  if  the  mild  weather  holds,  we'll  have  lodgings  for  a 
hundred  and  fifty  men."  He  joined  the  three  rectangles 
with  lines  along  their  outer  edges  so  that  the  whole  figure 
was  one  large  oblong  divided  into  five  parts. 

"Then  you'll  have  light  and  air  only  in  front  and  back," 
remarked  Jean.  "Have  you  begun  to  build?" 

"Oh  yes,  we've  been  at  it  since  Tuesday  morning  early. 
To-morrow  we  hope  to  lay  the  poplar  beams  that  form  the 
second  story." 

"On  both  houses?"  cried  Jean.  "How  have  you  ac- 
complished so  much?  How  do  they  build  these  houses, 
anyway  ?  I'd  like  to  see  them  doing  it." 

"Well,  you  can,"  said  Thorley.  "To-morrow  is  Satur- 
day. Dan  says  he  and  Mrs.  Lawrence  will  bring  you  up  to 
look  over  the  whole  thing.  We're  making  a  small  reservoir ; 
and  I've  got  something  to  show  you  in  the  factory.  High- 


OUR   WORK  113 

sounding  word,  isn't  it  ?  But  I  like  to  think  of  the  place  as 
a  real  plant." 

Jean  Stuart  looked  at  the  man  in  astonishment.  His 
eyes  glowed.  His  whole  face  and  figure  were  alive  with 
enthusiastic  energy.  It  made  her  realize  more  than  ever 
how  dull  his  life  must  be.  She  could  have  cried  at  seeing 
him  so  transfigured  by  a  chance  to  stand  over  a  few  vaga- 
bonds while  they  constructed  a  few  hundred  rough  clay 
water-pipes.  Here  was  a  man  with  ability  and  ambition. 
She  was  sure  of  it.  She  would  have  it  out  of  him  why  he 
stayed  in  this  little  uncivilized  corner,  constraining  himself 
to  jog  at  a  footpace  when  he  might  be  using  the  tremendous 
voltage  of  his  personality  to  set  thousands  of  men  and  mil- 
lions of  wheels  in  motion. 

"Well,"  he  said  impatiently,  "will  you  come  up  to-mor- 
row?" 

Jean  started.  "To  see  your  work?  I'd  like  to  come 
very  much.  You're  sure  the  Lawrences  want  to  bring  me  ? 
Why  can't  you  leave  Mr.  Freyer  sitting  on  the  lid  and  go  up 
with  us  yourself  in  the  morning  ?  Surely  it's  too  dark  now 
for  a  cautious  man  like  you  to  venture." 

Dan  Lawrence  opened  the  door  and  came  in. 

"Hi,  Thorley,"  he  said,  "I'm  glad  you  haven't  started. 
It's  much  too  late  now." 

Thorley  rose  and  held  out  his  hand  to  Miss  Stuart.  "I'll 
expect  you  in  the  morning,"  he  said.  "Dan,  try  to  get  an 
early  start.  Bring  my  father,  if  you  can,  but  don't  flood  the 
party  with  females." 

He  turned  again  to  Jean.  "I  wonder  how  you'll  like  a 
real  Persian  dinner.  Well,  good-by  till  to-morrow,  and 
remember  what  you're  coming  to  see  is  OUR  WORK.,  all 
capitals,  italicized." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THORLEY'S  DIGGINGS 

EVERY  one  in  the  Mission  Station  would  have  liked  to 
inspect  the  work  at  Akbar.  It  was  a  little  difficult  to  man- 
age that  those  who  needed  the  outing  most,  should  be  the 
ones  to  go.  Not  that  anybody  was  selfish  about  it.  On 
the  contrary,  with  so  many  people,  each  wishing  to  give  way 
to  the  others,  it  was  difficult  to  make  any  arrangements; 
for  nobody  would  believe  that  anybody  else  really  wanted  to 
stay  at  home. 

It  was  necessary  also  that  a  great  deal  of  work  should  be 
rearranged  or  put  off.  Some  chores  had  actually  to  be 
finished  Friday  night,  if  Saturday  were  to  be  made  into  a 
holiday.  Jean  Stuart  herself  spent  the  evening  darning 
the  knees  of  Danny's  stockings,  though,  as  she  smilingly 
said  to  herself,  she  had  never  before  looked  a  darning-needle 
in  the  eye. 

The  sun  of  Saturday  morning  was  only  a  little  above  the 
horizon  when  the  Lawrences'  buckboard  started  from  the 
Mission  Compound  in  the  city.  Mrs.  Lawrence  drove, 
with  Mr.  John  Prescott  beside  her.  Behind  them  were 
Amy  Lea  and  Roger  Standish.  Dan,  on  his  old  gray  horse, 
escorted  Miss  Stuart,  who  was  delighted  to  find  that  Lord 
Chesterton  was  recovering  all  the  friskiness  he  had  seemed 
to  leave  behind  him  when  he  entered  Persia. 

At  the  College  they  were  surprised  to  be  met  by  Dr.  Frank- 
lin with  an  outrider. 

"I  have  to  go  over  to  Sawam,"  explained  the  doctor. 
"There's  a  fellow  over  there  with  a  broken  hip  —  Yedgar, 

114 


THORLEY'S  DIGGINGS  115 

the  son  of  our  old  Bible  woman.  You  know  him,  Dan  —  I 
thought  I  might  as  well  ride  along  with  you  folks.  Per- 
haps, if  urged,  I'll  come  back  and  join  you  at  dinner." 

It  was  a  merry  party  that  rode  to  the  mountain  that  day. 
Their  work  had  been  left  behind ;  the  day  was  beautiful ; 
their  horses  were  fresh ;  the  road  over  which  they  were  travel- 
ling was  the  best  in  that  part  of  Persia  ;  and  they  were  going 
to  see  something  perfectly  new  and  very,  very  comforting. 
For  the  beginning  of  the  work  at  Akbar  was  relief  as  much 
to  the  spirits  of  the  missionaries  as  to  the  bodily  needs  of  the 
refugees. 

They  had  crossed  the  river  twice  and  were  about  to  begin 
their  struggle  with  the  last  ford,  which  was  a  very  treacherous 
one,  when,  high  up  on  the  mountain  before  them,  they  heard 
a  shout. 

"It's  Thorley,"  declared  Mr.  Prescott.  "He  may  bring 
down  dirt  and  stones  enough  to  give  us  a  dry  crossing." 

"Aren't  you  afraid  to  have  him  ride  that  way?"  asked 
Amy  Lea. 

Mr.  Prescott  laughed.  "Well,  I've  had  nearly  thirty 
years  to  get  used  to  it.  Thorley  began  to  ride  almost  before 
he  could  walk." 

"Good  morning,"  cried  the  horseman,  galloping  down  to 
the  river,  and  plunging  through  it.  "Nice  day,  isn't  it? 
Glad  to  see  you."  His  glance  had  taken  in  the  whole  party, 
but  as  he  made  the  last  remark,  his  eyes  rested  on  Jean 
Stuart.  "Well,  aren't  you  coming  across?"  he  continued. 
"Come  on,  Dan,  we  horsemen  will  go  down  to  the  other 
ford.  I  dare  you  to  cross  there,  Miss  Stuart.  Your  horse 
may  have  to  swim  for  a  yard  or  two." 

It  was  Amy  Lea  who  almost  fell  into  the  river  in  her  fear 
lest  the  others  might  get  wet ;  and  when  they  reached  the 
premises  at  Akbar  Mrs.  Lawrence  found  that  the  girl's  feet 
were  wet  because  she  had  forgotten  to  lift  them  from  the 
bottom  of  the  buckboard.  Margaret  Lawrence  could  not 


Il6  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

help  wishing  that  her  conscience  had  allowed  her  to  bring 
Willie  Trench  instead  of  this  careless  child.  Amy  had  been 
chosen,  because  it  was  her  first  year  on  the  Mission  field  and 
her  older  colleagues  were  in  the  habit  of  planning  for  her  to 
have  as  much  diversion  as  possible.  They  saw  that  without 
it,  her  intense  nature  would  not  be  able  to  resist  the  melan- 
choly of  the  sights  and  sounds  which  she  was  facing  for  the 
first  time.  The  making  of  young  missionaries  depends  far 
more  on  their  seniors  than  the  youngsters  ever  know  as  long 
as  they  are  youngsters;  and  it  is  a  process  that  calls  for 
infinite  patience  and  self-denial  on  the  part  of  the  seniors. 
So  Margaret  Lawrence  thought  as  she  insisted  that  Amy's 
shoes  and  stockings  be  thoroughly  dried  before  she  ventured 
outdoors  again.  And  Amy  was  just  as  peevish  about  it  as 
if  she  had  never  dreamt  of  being  a  missionary.  It  was  Jean 
Stuart  who  came  to  the  rescue  with  extra  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, which,  remembering  the  exigencies  of  her  journey,  she 
had  brought  up  in  her  saddle-bags. 

Thorley  Prescott,  meanwhile,  was  fuming  with  impa- 
tience. He  had  begun  to  snort  even  when  Mr.  Freyer,  meet- 
ing the  party  at  the  door  of  the  cook-house,  with  his  precise 
New  England  hospitality,  suggested  that  the  ladies  might 
like  to  go  upstairs  for  a  few  minutes  to  adjust  them- 
selves. 

"What  are  they  doing,"  Thorley  demanded  of  Dan  Law- 
rence, "when  they  all  get  together  in  a  room  and  you  can't 
hear  anything  but  talk  ?  " 

Dan  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Thorley,"  he  said  with  his  tolerant  smile,  "you  have  a 
lot  to  learn." 

"Well,  you  don't  seem  to  have  learned  much.  Don't  you 
know  what  they  do?  Is  it  all  talk?" 

"No  matter  what  they  do,"  Dan  answered,  "or  what 
they  don't  do,  the  one  thing  a  fellow  has  to  learn  is  simply 
this :  to  wait." 


THORLEY'S  DIGGINGS  117 

"Well,  I'll  be  doggoned,"  said  Thorley  Prescott,  "if  any 
woman  will  ever  teach  me  that." 

Mr.  Freyer  looked  rather  shocked;  but  Dan  heard  the 
outcome  of  Thorley's  speech  with  relief  that  it  was  no 
more  violent.  He  turned  aside  to  watch  the  workmen  who 
were  building  the  wall  between  the  cook-house  and  the 
dormitory  next  to  it. 

"I  planned  to  have  her  see  those  last  bricks  go  into  place," 
grumbled  Thorley  at  his  elbow,  "but  I  can't  have  the  work 
kept  back,  even  for  her.  Well,  you're  here  at  last,  are 
you?"  The  three  ladies  were  just  emerging  from  the  door 
of  the  cook-house.  It  should  have  been  perfectly  clear  to 
which  of  them  Thorley's  remark  was  addressed ;  but  Amy 
Lea  immediately  drowned  it  in  a  flood  of  apologies,  and  Jean 
Stuart  went  quickly  over  to  Mr.  Freyer,  whose  meat  and 
drink  it  was  to  impart  information.  She  began  asking  him 
how  the  mud  bricks  were  made  that  were  being  mortared 
now  into  the  walls  of  the  dwelling.  He  showed  her  the 
wooden  mould  into  which  the  mud  was  poured  and  mixed 
with  straw.  He  showed  her  the  large  bricks  set  up  on  their 
ends  to  dry,  and  was  about  to  point  out  the  poplar  beams 
which  would  be  laid  across  the  walls  in  a  few  minutes  to 
form  the  floor  of  the  second  story. 

"Mr.  Freyer,"  said  a  voice  behind  him,  "Miss  Lea  would 
like  you  to  explain  to  her  how  brick  is  made." 

Mr.  Freyer  jumped  a  little  as  he  turned  around.  There 
was  Thorley  Prescott  with  Amy  Lea  still  talking  at  his 
elbow.  Mr.  Freyer,  with  a  glance  of  regret  at  the  tall 
stranger  whose  intelligent  listening  he  was  beginning  to 
value,  stirred  up  a  fresh  puddle  of  imaginary  mud  and  tried 
to  go  with  the  same  enthusiasm  into  the  process  of  mixing 
and  moulding  it.  But  there  was  something  lacking.  The 
little  man  began  to  realize  vaguely  that  the  joy  of  imparting 
information  depended  somewhat  on  the  attitude  of  the 
recipient.  It  was  easier,  for  instance,  to  answer  one  ques- 


Il8  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

tion  at  a  time,  and  really  almost  unpleasant  to  have  a  care- 
ful answer  cut  off  by  a  new  and  irrelevant  question.  Mr. 
Freyer  drew  a  breath  of  relief  when  Roger  Standish  came 
up  with  a  home-made  conundrum  which  he  and  Miss  Lea 
found  exquisitely  funny. 

Meanwhile  Thorley  Prescott  and  Jean  Stuart  were  on  their 
way  to  the  "factory."  Dan  and  his  wife  and  Mr.  John 
Prescott  followed  them. 

"Who  protects  you  from  your  workmen?"  asked  Jean, 
as  a  fierce-looking  fellow  passed  her,  his  girdle  bristling  with 
knives  and  daggers.  "Really,  I'd  be  afraid  to  stay 
here." 

Thorley  laughed.     "Yet  you  travelled  alone  with — " 

Jean  held  up  her  hand.  "That's  just  why  I'm  afraid. 
And  don't  you  ever  say  his  name  to  me  again.  I  shudder 
every  time  I  think  of  him,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  reminded. 
Now  tell  me,  why  isn't  it  dangerous  for  you  to  )>e  up  here 
practically  alone  with  these  perfectly  horrible  creatures?" 

Thorley  laughed  again. 

"I  intend  to  ask  your  father,"  said  Jean. 

"Not  now,"  answered  Thorley.  "I'm  going  to  show 
you,"  his  face  was  lighted  with  triumph,  "I'm  going  to  show 
you  the  first  closed  water-pipe  ever  made  in  this  part  of 
Persia." 

"It  marks  a  new  era,  I  suppose,"  said  Jean,  trying  to 
share  his  joy. 

"It  ought  to,"  declared  Thorley,  "a  pure-water  supply, 
contented  workmen,  a  self-supporting  industry.  These 
things  aren't  as  small  as  they  look  to  a  capitalist  like  you." 

Jean,  who  had  intended  him  not  to  see  that  she  con- 
sidered his  affairs  small,  followed  him  meekly,  as  he  entered 
the  low  shed  and  crossed  the  very  slippery  floor  of  wet  clay. 

"Here,"  he  said,  picking  up  something  which  he  held  as 
tenderly  in  his  arms  as  if  it  were  alive,  "please  take  off  the 
cloth  yourself." 


THORLEY'S  DIGGINGS  119 

Jean,  thinking  of  her  gloves,  but  scorning  to  seem  gingerly, 
grasped  the  damp  and  not  too  dainty  cloth,  and  beheld  in 
Thorley's  arms  a  rough,  wet,  and  somewhat  crooked  water- 
pipe. 

"  You  shall  be  the  one  to  fire  it,"  cried  Thorley,  and  he 
handed  it  to  her  as  if  it  were  a  new-born  infant.  It  flashed 
through  Jean's  mind  that  it  would  be  a  long  time  before  she 
could  replace  her  riding  habit.  Moreover,  she  had  no  idea 
what  demand  the  process  of  firing  would  make  on  her 
powers. 

"Oh,  how  perfectly  lovely,"  cried  a  voice  behind  her. 
"Do  you  know  how  to  fire  pipes,  Miss  Stuart,  and  do  you 
know  just  how  it  was  made  and  all  about  it?" 

"I  should  say,"  answered  Miss  Stuart,  "that  I  know 
probably  just  about  as  much  as  you  do.  What  would 
happen  to  it,  Mr.  Prescott,  if  I  should  hold  it  off,  very  care- 
fully, of  course,  with  my  two  hands  instead  of  embracing  it 
bodily  as  you  do  ?" 

Thorley  Prescott  shouted  with  laughter.  He  put  the 
water-pipe  back  into  its  place  and  covered  it  up. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  fire  it?"  asked  Amy  Lea. 

"Not  to-day,"  said  Thorley.  "Now  let's  go  and  see  the 
reservoir." 

"Why  do  you  build  a  reservoir  now?"  asked  Mr.  Pres- 
cott. "I  should  think  you  had  enough  on  your  hands." 

"It's  now  or  never,"  answered  Thorley.  "The  ground 
may  freeze  hard  any  night.  If  I  can  get  a  pipe-line  from 
the  springs  to  the  factory,  we'll  have  running  water  to  wet 
the  clay  and  save  hours  of  carrying." 

"Miss  Oddfellow,"  said  Margaret  Lawrence,  "is  praying 
for  a  continuance  of  the  warm  weather." 

"That  shows  a  beautiful  spirit,"  declared  Mr.  Prescott. 
"The  dear  old  lady  was  heartbroken  to  have  a  thousand 
dollars  given  outright,  and  all  of  it  used  for  what  she  calls 
material  purposes."  He  lowered  his  voice  so  as  not  to  be 


I2O  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

heard  by  his  son  or  Miss  Stuart,  who  were  again  leading 
the  way,  this  time  to  the  reservoir. 

"Great  Scott,  Thor!"  exclaimed  Dan  Lawrence,  when 
they  had  climbed  the  mountain  a  little  way  and  had  reached 
the  place  where  a  gang  of  men  were  digging.  "I  had  no 
idea  these  springs  of  ours  amounted  to  so  much." 

"Neither  had  the  man  that  sold  them  to  us,"  laughed 
Thorley,  "or  we  never  should  have  gotten  them." 

"Just  think,"  added  Dan  Lawrence  hastily,  watching 
Mr.  Freyer's  expression,  "of  the  good  we  can  do  in  the  city, 
if  only  we  can  get  this  water  down  there." 

"This  is  about  the  place,  Dan,"  broke  in  Thorley,  "where 
I  thought  of  setting  up  a  circular  shovel.  What  do  you 
say  ?  "  He  jumped  into  the  diggings  as  he  spoke,  and  Dan 
Lawrence  jumped  after  him,  followed  in  a  moment  by  Mr. 
Prescott.  The  others  stood  above  them  on  the  slippery 
bank. 

Jean  Stuart  liked  watching  the  three  men.  It  was  easy 
to  see  that  Thorley  Prescott  knew  just  what  he  was  doing 
when  he  undertook  the  tasks  of  an  engineer.  His  words 
were  few  and  not  very  technical.  In  a  minute  he  had  made 
his  whole  idea  plain,  not  only  to  his  comrades  in  the  hole, 
but  to  his  listener  on  the  bank.  The  rest  of  the  audience 
dwindled  away.  Amy  Lea  and  Roger  Standish,  talking 
earnestly,  wandered  together  up  the  mountain.  Mr. 
Freyer,  finding  that  Miss  Stuart  did  not  hear  the  informa- 
tion he  was  dispensing,  suggested  to  Mrs.  Lawrence  that  it 
was  cold  standing  in  the  mud,  and  that  perhaps  some  one 
had  better  see  what  the  cook  was  about. 

"Well,  Thor,"  said  Dan,  "I  don't  find  any  flaw  in  your 
plans.  The  next  thing  is  to  get  that  circular  shovel  work- 
ing. Let's  go  at  it  right  off." 

A  few  pails,  some  rope,  and  a  pulley  or  two  were  collected. 
The  men  were  sent  hither  and  thither,  the  gentlemen  took 
off  their  coats,  and  worked  and  shouted  and  perspired.  In 


THORLEY S   DIGGINGS  121 

an  hour  or  two  the  workers  in  the  hole  were  all  very  muddy, 
and  the  spectator  on  the  bank  was  pretty  well  chilled 
through;  but  the  circular  shovel  was  working. 

"Hooray!"  yelled  Thorley,  throwing  up  his  cap;  and 
happening  to  lift  his  eyes  at  the  same  time,  he  beheld  Jean 
Stuart  still  on  the  bank  above  him. 

"I'd  forgotten  all  about  you, "he  cried.  "  Aren't  you  cold  ?" 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Jean,  "but  it's  very  entertaining  to  see 
modern  machinery  created  out  of  Oriental  chaos." 

Thorley,  slipping  back  at  every  step,  managed  to  climb 
out  of  the  hole. 

"It's  good  of  you  to  be  interested,"  he  said,  almost 
humbly.  "You  deserve  a  reward.  I  guess  I'll  have  to  take 
you  to  the  best  place  in  all  Persia." 

Mr.  Freyer  had  been  picking  his  way  toward  them  around 
the  reservoir,  until  he  stood  on  a  very  insecure  stone  with 
Dan  Lawrence  between  him  and  Miss  Stuart.  His  shrill 
voice  was  a  surprise  to  them  all ;  for  they  had  not  seen  him 
coming. 

"Miss  Stuart,"  he  said,  "it  would  give  me  pleasure  to 
show  you  a  very  beautiful  view  which  can  be  reached  by  a 
somewhat  difficult  path.  I  believe  with  my  assistance  you 
would  find  it  not  too  fatiguing.  May  I  have  the  honor  of 
escorting  you  ?  " 

"Miss  Stuart  is  going  with  me,"  said  Thorley  Prescott, 
barely  waiting  for  the  little  man's  speech  to  be  finished. 

Mr.  Freyer,  with  polite  expressions  of  regret,  turned  im- 
mediately away,  and  was  teetering  back  across  the  stones 
before  Jean  had  decided  just  what  she  would  say  to  him. 

"Mr.  Freyer,"  she  called,  but  Mr.  Freyer  was  hard  of 
hearing,  and  went  on  conscientiously  picking  his  way, 
though  his  shoes,  which  he  loved  to  keep  nice,  were  already 
as  muddy  as  they  could  well  be. 

Jean  stood  looking  after  him,  with  a  comical  feeling  of 
hesitation. 


122  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Well,  are  you  coming?"  said  Thorley  Prescott.  "My 
path  is  no  path  at  all,  but  I  guess  I  can  pull  you  up  the 
worst  places.  Dan,  see  if  you  can  keep  Freyer  away  from 
the  cook.  The  dinner  will  be  better.  Miss  Stuart,  you'll 
have  to  jump  across  this  spring."  He  held  out  his  hand, 
but  Jean,  disregarding  it,  turned  to  Mr.  Lawrence. 

"Please  tell  your  wife,"  she  said,  "that  because  of  my 
'satiable  curtiosity'  I  am  turning  my  back  on  a  manifest 
duty.  This  man  should  be  taught  that  no  woman  prefers 
a  command  to  a  request.  Did  I  ever  say  I  would  go  with 
you  to  the  best  place  in  all  Persia?"  She  smiled  teasingly 
at  Thorley. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  said  that 
gentleman.  "You  can  explain  it  as  we  go  along.  Good- 
by,  Dan." 

Miss  Stuart  jumped  across  the  spring;  and  Dan  Law- 
rence turned  away  chuckling. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

THE  BEST  PLACE  IN  ALL  PERSIA 

"DiD  I  say  too  much?"  asked  Thorley  Prescott. 

Miss  Stuart  did  not  speak.  She  did  not  even  look  at  him ; 
but  he  was  satisfied.  They  were  standing  on  the  roof  of  a 
little  cabin  built  high  up  on  the  side  of  Mt.  Akbar.  The 
cabin  was  hidden  to  the  roof  by  a  dense  growth  of  low  alders. 
Immediately  below,  so  that  it  seemed  as  if  a  stone  could  be 
dropped  down  on  them,  were  the  buildings  of  the  Mission. 
The  premises  were  outlined  by  a  high  mud  wall  which,  far 
to  the  right,  extended  itself  in  a  queer  circular  formation 
to  enclose  a  group  of  little  white  stones  that  were  shut  off 
from  the  rest  of  the  premises  by  a  hedge  of  poplar  and  a 
wicket  gate.  This  enclosure  contained  the  graves  of  the 
missionaries  and  their  children  who  had  died  in  the  service. 
Jean  turned  her  eyes  away  from  the  little  white  stones  as 
soon  as  she  could.  She  found  the  track  which  the  buck- 
board  had  made  that  morning  and  followed  it  from  the  gate 
down  to  that  last  ford  in  the  river.  Then  she  pursued  the 
windings  of  the  river  in  and  out  and  around,  until  sud- 
denly, her  glance  swept  around  a  great  silver  curve  and 
leaped  to  the  city  wall.  Then  all  Muramna  lay  spread 
before  her.  She  could  see  the  dome  of  the  old  church  just 
opposite  the  gate  of  the  Mission  Compound.  She  found 
herself  looking  for  the  top  of  the  press  building,  but  that  she 
preferred  after  all  not  to  see  on  this  holiday,  and  her  gaze 
wandered  to  the  blue  waters  of  the  lake  which  twinkled 
in  the  sunlight  outside  the  southern  wall  of  Muramna, 
stretching  eastward  and  southward  as  far  as  the  eye  could 

123 


124  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

see.  Up  the  borders  of  the  lake  and  on  the  mountain  be- 
tween the  plain  and  the  city  were  scattered  little  villages, 
collections  of  mud  hovels,  squalid  enough  when  one  was 
near  them,  but  sightly  as  they  lay  with  miles  of  golden  sun- 
shine between  them  and  the  eye  of  the  beholder.  Jean  Stu- 
art's glance  rested  happily  on  each  little  village ;  and  Thor- 
ley  Prescott,  watching  her,  was  glad  that  she  could  not  know 
yet  of  all  the  misery  that  was  hidden  under  that  picturesque 
mud. 

"They  shan't  tell  her  the  horrors,  if  I  can  help  it,"  he 
growled  fiercely  to  himself.  Then,  remembering  how  help- 
less he  was  to  protect  her  from  the  combined  tongue  and 
conscience  of  the  Mission  circle,  he  sighed  so  heavily  that 
she  turned  on  him  in  astonishment. 

"I  want  you  to  see  what  makes  this  the  best  place  in  all 
Persia.  Turn  around,  please."  He  led  her  to  the  other 
side  of  the  roof  and  made  her  stand  on  the  very  edge.  There 
to  the  westward,  just  over  the  spur  of  Akbar,  he  showed  her 
a  sight  that  took  away  her  breath.  There,  row  on  row, 
rank  behind  rank,  stood  the  purple  mountains  of  Kurdistan, 
so  vivid  that  the  hands  of  the  spirit  could  reach  out  and 
touch  their  white  summits.  Yet  their  splendor  made  them 
as  awe-inspiring  as  the  thought  of  heaven,  and  they  seemed 
as  infinitely  far  away  in  the  enchantment  of  their  color  and 
the  majesty  of  their  forms. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  while  Jean  looked  at  the  moun- 
tains and  Thorley  did  not.  At  last  Jean  spoke  softly. 

"You  are  good  to  show  me  this.  I'm  glad  you  have  it 
all  for  your  very  own." 

"I  have  never  shown  it  to  any  one  else,"  he  answered. 

"  But  the  cabin  ?    Is  that  yours,  too  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  built  it  myself  last  autumn  when  I  stayed  here 
alone.  If  the  workmen  prove  trustworthy,  I  shall  live  here 
through  the  winter." 

"With  Mr.  Freyer?" 


THE  BEST  PLACE  IN  ALL  PERSIA         125 

"No.  Freyer  and  Standish  will  be  going  to  their  Station 
soon.  They're  waiting  only  for  letters  from  the  Board." 

"And  will  you  like  to  stay  here  all  alone  through  the 
bleak  winter  with  the  cold  sifting  in  through  the  pores  of 
this  cabin,  and  never  a  human  being  within  call,  who  isn't 
bristling  with  hair  and  daggers?" 

Thorley  turned  away,  saying  in  a  disgusted  tone,  "You 
looked  as  if  you  liked  it." 

" I  do  like  it,"  said  Jean.     "Is  it  safe  to  sit  on  this  roof  ?" 

"Wait  a  minute,"  he  answered,  vanishing  down  the  lad- 
der, and  coming  up  again  instantly  with  a  camp  stool.  Jean 
seated  herself  where  she  could  still  see  the  tops  of  those  de- 
lectable mountains.  Thorley  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  roof 
swinging  his  feet. 

"This  is  what  I  call  playing  'hookey,'"  he  said.  "If 
you  had  gone  walking  with  Freyer  he  would  have  told  you 
the  exact  height  of  every  one  of  those  peaks." 

"Yes,  and  you  might  have  been  discussing  the  ethical 
significance  of  the  modern  novel." 

Prescott  laughed.  "Oh,  no,"  he  said,  "she  doesn't  try 
it  on  with  me." 

"  She  doesn't  dare,"  said  Jean.  "You  know  you're  a  very 
alarming  person." 

"Then  why  aren't  you  afraid  of  me  ?" 

"I  am.  There's  a  question  I'm  dying  to  ask,  but  the 
very  thought  of  facing  you  with  it  makes  me  palpitate  with 
fear." 

"Humph!"  said  Thorley  Prescott.  He  had  seen  her 
when  she  was  really  frightened,  and  he  remembered  that 
she  had  not  talked  then  about  being  afraid.  "Well,  go 
ahead." 

"Where?" 

"Ask  your  question." 

"You  give  me  full  permission,  and  you  promise  faithfully 
not  to  scowl  at  me  ?" 


126  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Go  ahead." 

"It's  a  question  that  shows  me  in  the  most  unpleasant 
light,  as  just  a  plain  inquisitive  female." 

Thorley  looked  up  with  a  gleam  of  fun.  "Does  that  call 
for  a  pretty  speech  from  me  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Jean,  clapping  her  hands.  "I'll  bet 
you  anything  you  don't  know  how  to  make  one." 

Thorley  looked  straight  at  her,  smiling  from  the  very 
bottom  of  his  eyes.  "Are  you  going  to  ask  that  question  ?  " 
he  demanded. 

"Let's  change  the  subject,"  said  Jean.  "I  want  to  tell 
you  something.  I  started  round  the  world  to  see  if  I  could 
find  more  than  one  contented  man." 

"Had  you  found  one  ?" 

"I  thought  I  had,  and  I  wanted  to  be  sure.  Now  I  am 
sure.  Would  you  like  to  know  who  the  man  is  ?  " 

"That's  easy." 

"You  believe,  then,  that  he  really  loves  the  life  here  with 
all  its  deprivations?  He  must  be  homesick  for  America 
at  times.  He  must  regret  all  the  comforts  that  he  cannot 
give  his  family.  He  must  hate  to  see  his  wife  working  so 
hard,  and  later  he  will  have  to  face  the  thought  of  sending 
his  children  away.  There  will  be  years  of  separation. 
Perhaps  neither  Ruth  nor  Danny  will  ever  come  back  to 
live  in  his  home  again.  I  call  it  a  life  of  unmitigated  self- 
sacrifice." 

"Did  you  ever  call  it  so  to  him  ?" 

"Do  you  know,"  Jean  answered,  "I  didn't  dare.  I  have 
an  idea  he  wouldn't  like  it." 

Prescott  chuckled.  "I  heard  some  one  use  that  word 
to  him  just  once." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you.  I  wish  I  could  even  give  you 
an  idea  how  he  looked.  I  tell  you  there  were  sparks  in 
those  nice  gray  eyes  of  his.  'Self -sacrifice,'  he  said,  'I  don't 


THE  BEST  PLACE  IN  ALL  PERSIA          127 

like  to  hear  that  word  mentioned  in  connection  with  a  mis- 
sionary's life.  Any  one  who  thinks  of  it  that  way  had  bet- 
ter stay  at  home.'  He  admitted  that  there  were  things  a 
missionary  had  to  give  up,  but  —  and  then  how  his  face 
shone !  Dan  isn't  much  of  a  talker.  He  doesn't  need  to 
talk.  His  life  says  it  all,  and  the  way  he  looks  while  he  is 
doing  his  work." 

Jean  Stuart  had  never  but  once  heard  so  many  words  to- 
gether from  the  lips  of  Thorley  Prescott.  It  was  good  to 
see  his  face  glow  as  he  talked  of  his  friend. 

"Do  you  know  why  he  feels  this  way  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  yes.    He  believes  that  the  Lord  has  put  him  here." 

"Do  you?" 

"Do  I  what?" 

"Do  you  believe  that  the  Lord  puts  men  in  places  ?" 

A  grim  smile  twitched  at  the  corners  of  Thorley 's  mouth. 
"Look  here,"  he  said,  "if  you're  inquiring  about  matters  of 
religion,  don't  apply  to  me.  Ask  Dan." 

"  I  am  asking  you.     You  said  I  might  ask  you  questions." 

"That's  woman  all  over.  She  says  question  and  then 
she  says  she  said  questions.  Well  go  ahead.  Please  re- 
state Number  One." 

"No,"  said  Jean,  "now  I'm  going  to  ask  the  real  one  that 
I've  been  driving  at  all  along.  You  are  not  contented  here, 
as  your  friend  Mr.  Lawrence  is.  There  are  splendid  big 
things  that  you  could  do  out  in  the  world,  and  you  could 
accomplish  more  than  most  men.  Why  don't  you  drop  all 
this  and  get  right  at  the  thing  you  were  fitted  for  ?  I  know 
lots  of  people  that  could  help  you  and  be  proud  of  you  after- 
wards." 

While  she  was  speaking  Prescott  had  risen.  Now  he  stood 
squarely  on  his  feet  looking  down  at  her  with  an  expression 
which  she  could  not  read.  He  was  not  angry,  she  thought, 
nor  contemptuous,  nor  did  he  show  the  faintest  sign  of  grati- 
fication at  her  interest  in  his  career.  He  remained  perfectly 


128  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

silent  through  a  moment  that  seemed  to  her  very  long. 
When  at  last  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  husky  and  very  deep. 

"The  answer,"  he  said,  "can  all  be  summed  up  in  just 
two  words  :  My  mother  ! " 

This  tune  Jean  kept  the  silence,  and  after  another  long 
moment  he  went  on.  "She  gave  me  to  the  Lord  when  I 
was  born.  Named  me  Samuel  and  told  me  why  before  I 
could  talk  plain.  I  always  said  I  wanted  to  be  a  soldier,  and 
she  would  answer,  'A  soldier  of  the  Cross,  dear  little  Sam- 
uel.' But  I  never  gave  in.  Not  until  she  lay  dying,  and 
then  I  couldn't  refuse  to  promise.  So  here  I  am." 

As  he  finished,  a  very  bitter  smile  distorted  his  face.  "And 
even  you  can  see  at  the  first  glance  that  I'm  a  failure." 

Jean  Stuart  was  appalled.  There  was  despair  in  the  face 
before  her  —  despair  for  which  she  knew  no  remedy.  It 
had  come  over  her  while  the  man  was  speaking,  that  once 
he  had  given  his  promise,  nothing  would  ever  tear  him 
away  from  keeping  it.  Yet  for  the  life  of  her  she  could 
not  help  saying,  "But  if  your  mother  could  see  you  now, 
she  would  not  want  you  to  keep  that  promise." 

He  turned  on  her  angrily.  " Never  say  that  to  me  again," 
he  thundered. 

Jean  rose  and  faced  him.  "I  will  say  it,"  she  insisted. 
"You  have  no  right  to  keep  a  promise  that  is  spoiling  your 
whole  life.  No  other  man  I  know  would  be  so  foolish  or  so 
wicked." 

Two  pairs  of  fearless  eyes  glared  into  each  other.  Pres- 
cott's  were  the  first  to  soften.  Impulsively  he  held  out 
both  hands. 

"I  like  you !"  he  cried,  "and  you  shall  ask  me  as  many 
questions  as  you  want." 

She  put  out  her  right  hand  and  gave  his  one  good  hearty 
grip.  "That's  a  bargain,"  she  said,  "and  now  let's  go  down 
to  dinner.  They've  been  ringing  a  bell  ever  so  long  from 
the  roof  of  the  cook-house." 


CHAPTER  XVIH 

A  DINNER  WITHOUT  DESSERT 

IF  Prescott  and  Miss  Stuart  were  late,  they  were  not  the 
only  delinquents.  Standish  and  Miss  Lea  had  not  been 
seen  since  they  left  the  reservoir,  when  Margaret  Lawrence 
had  noticed  that  they  walked  off  together  in  the  direction 
of  the  westward  gate;  but  Dr.  Franklin,  who  had  visited 
his  patient  in  Sawam,  declared  that  when  he  had  ridden 
through  the  gate  not  ten  minutes  ago,  he  had  seen  no  sign 
of  any  one.  Thorley  Prescott  sent  men  outside  the  gate 
to  watch.  Then  he  suggested  rather  irascibly  that  those 
present  begin  dinner  at  once. 

"You  ordered  the  meal  served  native  fashion,  Thor," 
said  Dan  Lawrence,  "so,  when  in  your  absence  Mr.  Freyer 
consulted  me,  I  suggested  that  the  cloth  be  laid  on  the  floor. 
There  was  no  table  large  enough.  Besides,  Margaret  and 
I  thought  that  the  experience  of  an  orthodox  Persian  dinner 
might  be  entertaining  to  your  guests." 

"Much  obliged,"  said  Thorley,  "more  entertaining  than 
comfortable,  but  she  may  like  it." 

Dan  laughed.  "I  said  guests"  he  remarked ;  but  Thorley 
paid  no  attention. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  called,  "please  come  out  to 
dinner." 

Miss  Stuart  was  invited  to  seat  herself  on  the  floor  between 
Thorley  Prescott  and  Dan  Lawrence.  Before  her  was  a 
somewhat  dingy  cotton  cloth  covered  with  large  and  gaudy 
representations  of  horses,  men,  altars,  bloody  sacrifices  and 
other  emblems  more  sacred,  perhaps,  than  appetizing.  The 

K  I2Q 


130  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

cloth,  fortunately,  was  well  covered  with  coarse  dishes  full 
of  queer  concoctions.  At  each  end  was  a  pile  of  native 
bread  in  sheets  the  size  of  a  dinner  plate.  It  had  been  made 
by  slapping  heated  dough  on  hot  stones. 

"Are  you  going  to  sit  Persian  fashion,  Miss  Stuart?" 
asked  John  Prescott  across  the  cloth.  He  himself  had  bent 
his  knees  and  was  squatting  back  on  his  heels,  as  were  all 
the  others,  excepting  Mrs.  Lawrence,  who  was  more  com- 
fortable with  her  legs  crossed  in  the  Turkish  fashion  which 
she  had  learned  as  a  child  in  Syria. 

"Better  not  try  it,"  admonished  Dan  Lawrence,  "or  if 
you  do,  not  for  long." 

"Ha,  ha,"  laughed  Dr.  Franklin,  "that's  right.  First 
time  I  sat  on  my  heels  through  a  Persian  dinner  I  fell  on  my 
face  among  the  sweetmeats  when  I  tried  to  get  up." 

Miss  Stuart  had  had  enough  of  it  already.  "It  hurts," 
she  remarked,  but  she  found  another  way  to  crouch  more 
easily  on  the  floor  and  refused  the  cushion  which  Dan  offered 
her. 

"What  are  we  doing  with  knives  and  forks  and  plates, 
Thor  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Prescott,  after  the  blessing  had  been 
asked  at  some  length  by  Mr.  Freyer. 

"I  didn't  order  them,"  said  Thorley. 

"Don't  the  natives  use  them?"  asked  Miss  Stuart. 
"What  do  they  use  ?  Not  chop-sticks  ?" 

Every  one  laughed  but  Thorley,  who  said  with  a  genial 
smile,  "What  a  loss  it  will  be  to  us  all  when  you  lose  your 
ignorance." 

She  leaned  toward  him,  murmuring  under  cover  of  the 
renewed  burst  of  hilarity,  "Isn't  it  barely  possible  that  I 
may  have  come  to  the  same  conclusion?"  Then,  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  she  called  to  Mr.  Freyer,  who  sat  at 
the  other  end  of  the  cloth,  "  What  is  this  delicious  object  ? 
I'm  sure  you  will  help  me.  Up  here  they  are  all  so  busy 
making  fun  of  me  that  I  don't  get  any  information  at  all." 


A   DINNER   WITHOUT   DESSERT  131 

Mr.  Freyer  beamed  as  he  replied,  "It  is  dolma  — 
d-o-l-m-a.  It  consists  of  a  cucumber  stuffed  with  force- 
meat and  boiled.  The  preparation  of  the  forcemeat  is,  I 
believe,  rather  complicated.  Perhaps  it  can  best  be  ex- 
plained by  one  of  the  home-making  sex."  He  turned 
deferentially  to  Mrs.  Lawrence  at  his  right,  but  Mr.  John 
Prescott  broke  in  before  she  could  respond,  "This  is  the 
way  the  natives  eat  it."  He  took  up  his  cucumber  in  his 
fingers,  dipped  it  into  a  boat  of  white  gravy  that  stood  near 
him,  and  began  eating  it  as  a  schoolboy  eats  an  apple. 

Dr.  Franklin  nudged  Dan  Lawrence.  "John's  broken 
loose,"  he  muttered.  "I  haven't  seen  him  act  like  that 
since  he  married  the  present  Mrs.  P." 

The  doctor  put  one  large  brown  hand  on  the  cloth  and, 
stretching  himself  across  it,  insinuated  a  huge  morsel  from 
his  own  plate  into  the  unreceptive  mouth  of  Thorley  Pres- 
cott. "That  should  have  gone  to  you  as  guest  of  honor, 
Miss  Stuart,"  he  explained,  "but  I  thought  you  would  rather 
receive  it  by  proxy."  He  subsided  into  his  place,  and 
Thorley,  catching  the  expression  on  Miss  Stuart's  face, 
burst  out  laughing. 

"Tell  me,"he said, "didyouneverseeyourmuleteers eat?" 

"Oh,  yes,  but  that  was  on  the  journey.  Sometimes  I 
myself  had  to  eat  with  my  fingers.  One  does  that  even  at 
home  on  a  picnic;  but  the  food  which  the  muleteers  had 
was  not  difficult,  like  these  —  dolmas  ?  and  they  never  fed 
each  other.  Is  it  only  among  p.eople  of  rank  that  this 
pleasing  generosity  is  the  custom?"  This  question  was 
directed  to  Dr.  Franklin. 

"I  forbid  you  to  answer  her,"  exclaimed  Thorley  Prescott. 
"She'll  write  down  what  you  say  and  put  it  in  a  book." 

"I  write  a  book  on  Persia?"  Jean's  face  sparkled,  and 
her  merry  laugh  rang  out. 

"A  little  later,  possibly.  More  likely  you  have  begun 
already." 


132  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Yes.  I  put  down  all  the  hotels  and  starred  them  the 
very  night  I  came ;  and  I  made  an  awfully  interesting  foot- 
note about  the  language  used  by  missionaries  when  dis- 
missing couriers." 

" What's  that?"  asked  Dr.  Franklin,  while  Thorley  began 
somewhat  uneasily  to  search  his  memory. 

But  now  the  cook  stalked  proudly  in  with  a  dish  contain- 
ing a  brown  mess,  in  consistency  very  much  like  first-class 
glue.  Another  servant  followed,  bearing  on  a  platter  a  high 
mound  of  white  rice. 

"Ph,  oh  !"  cried  Jean,  "I'm  just  positive  that's  the  kind 
of  pilau  that  has  eggs  hidden  in  it.  Now,  let's  see  how  you 
eat  that ! " 

"Thank  you,"  said  Prescott.  "Haresa  is  good  enough 
for  me,"  and  he  helped  himself  liberally  to  the  brown  glue. 
"I  dare  you  to  eat  it  as  I  do,"  he  added  mockingly.  Jean 
broke  off  deliberately  a  piece  of  her  sheet  of  bread,  formed  it 
into  a  sort  of  shovel,  dipped  up  with  it  some  of  the  brown 
mixture  out  of  the  common  bowl,  moistened  the  whole  with 
melted  butter,  also  out  of  a  common  dish,  and,  tilting  her 
head  far  back,  dropped  the  morsel  neatly  into  her  mouth 
which  closed  as  smilingly  over  it  as  if  it  had  been  introduced 
by  the  latest  thing  in  forks.  Margaret  Lawrence  clapped 
her  hands,  and  was  imitated  by  all  the  men  except  Thorley 
Prescott,  who  said,  "You  left  out  the  coriander  seed." 

Jean  wrinkled  up  her  nose.  "That's  one  thing  I  know 
enough  to  avoid.  It  may  be  scriptural,  as  Mr.  Freyer  says ; 
but  it's  very  nasty.  I  like  the  glue.  How  did  you  say  it 
was  made?" 

"Of  chicken  and  wheat,"  responded  Mr.  Freyer,  hurriedly 
deciding  that  this  was  not  the  moment  to  speak  of  Miss 
Stuart's  light  allusion  to  the  Word  of  God.  He  promised 
himself  a  long  and  earnest  talk  with  her  one  of  these  days 
and  rather  regretted  that  his  work  would  take  him  so  soon 
away  from  Muramna.  Meanwhile  he  went  on  with  ex- 


A  DINNER   WITHOUT   DESSERT  133 

planations.  "The  fowl  is  boiled,  together  with  grains  of 
entire  wheat,  and  without  any  salt  whatever,  for  forty-eight 
hours  at  least." 

"How  interesting,"  said  Jean,  very  graciously.  It  was 
borne  in  upon  her  by  this  time  that  Thorley  Prescott  scowled 
whenever  she  applied  for  information  to  the  other  end  of  the 
table;  so  she  was  hunting  about  in  her  mind  for  another 
question  when  the  door  from  the  hall  opened  suddenly. 
Roger  Standish  burst  into  the  room,  half  carrying  Miss  Lea, 
who  hung  on  his  arm  pale  and  breathless.  When  Mrs. 
Lawrence  ran  up  to  her,  she  promptly  fainted.  Margaret 
and  Dr.  Franklin  caught  her  and  laid  her  on  the  divan ; 
while  Dan  Lawrence  wet  his  handkerchief,  giving  it  to  his 
wife,  before  he  hurried  away  to  get  a  glass  of  fresh  water. 
Meanwhile  Standish  was  gasping :  — 

"Outside  the  walls  —  up  north  by  those  hummocks  — 
the  bullet  grazed  my  hair  —  I  got  her  home  as  soon  as  I 
could  —  but  the  fellow  you  sent  after  us  — 

"He  shot  at  you?"  said  Thorley.     "Nonsense !" 

"No,  no.  Another  fellow  in  a  green  turban  —  from  be- 
hind the  hummock.  He  ran  when  he  saw  your  fellow  com- 
ing —  I'm  afraid  — 

"Whom  did  you  send,  Thor  ?" 

"Isaac  of  Arawan,  a  brave  man,"  said  Thorley,  catching 
up  his  riding- whip  and  making  for  the  door.  "Lead  on, 
Standish.  Ready,  Dan?" 

"Wait  for  me,"  said  Mr.  Freyer,  hunting  distractedly  for 
his  hat.  His  beard  quivered,  but  he  was  afraid  only  of  being 
left  behind.  John  Prescott  was  already  half-way  down  the 
stairs. 

"There,  ladies,"  said  Dr.  Franklin,  catching  up  the  poker, 
"you  know  more  about  this  kind  of  patient  than  I  do. 
She'll  come  around ;  give  her  time  and  water."  His  last 
words  were  shouted  from  below. 

Jean  Stuart  went  to  the  window  and  looked  after  the  five 


134  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

men.  She  could  see  Dan  and  Thorley  running  ahead,  with 
Standish  between  them.  Mr.  John  Prescott  and  Mr. 
Freyer,  who  had  found  his  hat,  were  close  behind  them ;  but 
the  doctor,  in  trying  to  catch  up  with  them,  had  already 
lost  his  breath  and  was  puffing  along  several  paces  in  the  rear. 

Miss  Lea  was  soon  able  to  give  her  version  of  the  adven- 
ture. "We  were  outside  the  walls,"  she  said  plaintively 
(Mrs.  Lawrence  bit  her  lip  and  tried  not  to  frown  at  the 
girl),  "when  we  heard  a  gunshot.  The  bullet  came  very 
near ;  and  the  next  second  we  saw  a  man  running  away  from 
behind  a  hummock." 

"What  kind  of  man?"  said  Miss  Stuart. 

"A  little,  small,  brown  man  in  a  green  turban.  That's 
all  I  could  see  of  him,  I  was  so  frightened."  The  girl  began 
to  whimper. 

"There,  never  mind,"  said  Jean.  "Don't  talk  any  more 
now.  Lie  still  and  let  me  smooth  your  hair." 

"He  screamed  terribly  as  he  ran  away,"  sobbed  Amy. 
"It  sounded  as  if  he  were  saying  things  to, us  in  English,  — 
bad  things,  you  know." 

"Could  you  hear  any  of  the  words?"  asked  Mrs.  Law- 
rence. 

"I  —  I  don't  really  know,"  quavered  Miss  Lea,  "though 
the  last  word  sounded  like,"  she  lowered  her  voice  to  a  hor- 
rified whisper,  "damn,"  she  breathed,  hiding  her  face  in 
the  pillow  and  shuddering  from  head  to  foot. 

Jean  Stuart  suppressed  a  smile.  When  Amy  emerged 
from  the  cushions,  it  was  to  murmur,  "Roger  was  so  brave. 
He  brought  me  right  home  without  once  stopping.  I  should 
have  fainted  long  before,  if  he  hadn't  made  me  come  along. 
Roger  is  so  brave."  Then  it  came  to  her  that  she  had  called 
him  ''Roger,"  and  she  began  to  blush. 

At  this  point  Thorley  Prescott  dashed  into  the  room, 
carrying  two  of  the  thin  poplar  poles  that  were  to  be  used 
for  the  new  roofs. 


A   DINNER   WITHOUT   DESSERT  13$ 

"I  want  that  cover,"  he  cried,  seizing  a  corner  of  the  Bag- 
dad which  was  over  the  couch.  Miss  Lea,  with  Jean's 
help,  removed  herself  just  in  time  to  keep  from  being  de- 
posited on  the  floor.  "  Dan,"  as  Mr.  Lawrence  came  breath- 
lessly into  the  room,  "  double  this  cloth  while  I  get  hammer 
and  nails." 

Thorley  then  left  the  room.  Dan  Lawrence  whispered 
to  his  wife,  as  they  folded  the  Bagdad,  that  Isaac  had  been 
found  slightly  wounded  and  that  he  and  Thorley  were  going 
out  to  bring  him  back  to  the  house.  Thorley  quickly  came 
back  with  hammer  and  nails.  By  tacking  the  Bagdad  to  the 
poplar  poles,  a  rude  stretcher  was  rapidly  made,  both  men 
working  at  once,  with  Margaret  and  Jean  handing  them 
nails. 

"Have  you  bandages?"  asked  Jean. 

" In  the  doctor's  case,"  said  Thorley.     " Please  find  it." 

Jean  did  find  it  hidden  away  in  the  doctor's  saddle-bags, 
which  he  had  thrown  behind  the  door. 

"What  bed  shall  we  get  ready?"  asked  Margaret. 

"In  that  room,"  said  Thorley,  pointing  with  one  hand 
while  with  the  other  he  grasped  an  end  of  the  finished 
stretcher  and  followed  Dan  to  the  door. 

"Oh,  tell  me,"  cried  Amy  Lea,  running  after  them,  "is 
there  any  more  danger  ?  " 

Jean  took  hold  of  her  and  pushed  her  into  a  chair.  "You 
sit  there,"  she  said,  "and  keep  still.  Now,  Mrs.  Lawrence, 
where  shall  we  find  the  sheets  for  that  bed?" 

The  bed  was  ready  by  the  time  the  gentlemen  returned 
carrying  the  wounded  man.  Hot  water  was  ready  also, 
and  absorbent  cotton  and  stimulants,  as  well  as  more  band- 
ages, though  when  and  how  the  two  ladies  found  these 
things  they  were  never  able  to  tell. 

"I  say,  Dan,"  announced  Dr.  Franklin,  when  the  patient 
was  resting  comfortably  in  his  clean  bed,  "your  wife  and 
that  girl  are  a  team  of  thoroughbreds." 


136  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"You  mean  Miss  Lea?"  said  Dan  with  one  eye  on 
Thorley. 

The  doctor  snorted.  "The  kindest  thing  to  be  said 
about  her,"  he  remarked,  "is  in  Syriac.  She  is  not  yet 
cooked." 

Thorley  Prescott  growled.  "Standish,  too,"  he  declared. 
"What  a  pair  of  young  fools  !  I  told  'em  to  stay  inside  the 
walls." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Dr.  Franklin,  "you'd  better  be  get- 
ting these  ladies  home.  Dan,  you  tell  Kate  that  I'm  spend- 
ing the  night.  Better  not  say  much  about  the  accident 
until  I  get  home.  Oh,  no,"  in  reply  to  a  question  from 
Thorley  Prescott,  "the  injury  doesn't  amount  to  much. 
You  and  Freyer  could  look  after  it  as  well  as  I.  Clean 
wound  in  the  fleshy  part  of  the  leg.  Artery  severed,  but 
that's  all.  Only  possible  complications  might  arise  from 
poverty  of  blood.  The  man's  a  skeleton.  Plucky  beggar, 
though,  which  always  helps." 

"With  your  permission,"  said  Dan,  "I'll  go  and  tell 
Margaret.  She'll  be  relieved,  and  I'll  see  that  they  get 
ready  to  start  for  home.  You  don't  think  that  fellow  is 
likely  to  waylay  us,  Thor  ?" 

"He  ran  off  up  the  mountain,"  said  Thorley.  "One  of 
the  other  men  I  sent  out  followed  him  along  behind  the  hum- 
mocks and  watched  him  enter  the  trail  to  Sawam.  He 
can't  get  back  without  passing  here,  and  I've  set  watchmen 
by  the  walls." 

"That's  all  right,  then,"  said  Dan,  leaving  the  hall  where 
the  three  men  had  been  talking,  and  going  to  find  the  ladies. 

Thorley  was  about  to  follow  Dan  when  the  doctor  caught 
him  by  the  sleeve. 

"Say,  Thor,"  he  said,  "you  want  to  look  out  for  yourself. 
That  fellow,  I  judge,  was  after  you." 

Thorley  looked  uncomfortably  at  the  floor.  "Just  keep 
still  about  it,  Doctor." 


A   DINNER   WITHOUT   DESSERT  137 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  doctor.  "Keeping  still 
won't  mend  it." 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  Thorley  impatiently  pulled  his  sleeve 
away. 

Dr.  Franklin  took  a  firmer  hold  "Now,  Thorley,"  he 
said,  "you  have  no  right  to  be  a  fool.  You've  been  cooked 
this  many  a  year.  Standish  swears  he  heard  the  man  say, 
' BlackBrescottbedamn  ! '" 

Thorley  faced  the  doctor  squarely.  "You  may  trust 
me,  Uncle  Harry,"  he  said.  "  I  intend  to  be  deucedly  prudent, 
only  don't  talk  before  the  ladies  or  my  father." 

"Ah,  ha,"  said  the  doctor,  and  whatever  he  meant  by 
that  exclamation,  he  kept  it  to  himself. 

Thorley  opened  the  door  into  the  dining-room.  "Ladies, 
are  you  ready?"  he  called.  "The  cavalcade  starts  in  ten 
minutes."  He  went  over  to  Miss  Stuart. 

"I'm  sorry  not  to  be  going  back  with  you,"  he  said. 
"Your  holiday  has  been  spoiled." 

"As  if  that  mattered,"  she  answered  quickly.  "I'm 
glad  the  man  is  not  seriously  hurt.  Have  you  any  idea  who 
the  assailant  was  and  what  he  wanted  ?" 

All  who  heard  the  question  strained  their  ears  for  the 
answer.  But  Miss  Lea  and  Roger  Standish,  conferring 
together  in  a  corner,  their  relish  for  each  other's  society 
increased  by  the  feeling  that  they  were  both  blamed  for 
the  late  accident,  —  Miss  Lea  and  Roger  Standish  heard 
neither  Miss  Stuart's  question  nor  the  answer  which 
Thorley  gave  promptly  with  a  short  laugh.  "Oh,  just 
some  fellow  who  wanted  a  dinner  and  was  taking  pot- 
luck.  Pretty  good  joke,  Dan.  Pot-luck !  Better  write 
it  down  in  the  annals  of  the  Mission."  He  laughed  again, 
hoping  that  Dan,  at  least,  would  join  him.  But  Dan 
had  left  the  room ;  and  a  dead  silence  fell  as  soon  as 
Thorley  had  finished.  Out  of  it  rose  the  earnest  voice,  of 
Amy  Lea. 


138  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Hadji  Husain  !"  she  exclaimed,  "you  think  it  was  he? 
But  why?  Who  is  he?" 

Jean  Stuart  had  scarcely  time  to  turn  pale,  before  Prescott 
had  leaped  across  the  room  to  Standish. 

"You  damn  liar  !"  he  cried,  seizing  the  boy  by  the  shoul- 
ders, and  shaking  him  as  a  big  dog  shakes  a  little  one,  "you 
promised  me  not  to  tell." 

"Take  it  back  !"  Standish  gasped,  trying  to  use  his  fists. 
"No  fellow  calls  me  a  liar  without  having  his  face  punched 
for  it." 

Amy  Lea  dropped  into  a  chair  and  wondered  if  she  were 
going  to  faint  again.  Margaret  Lawrence  looked  around 
for  her  husband,  while  Mr.  Freyer,  seeing  that  his  frantic 
advice  had  no  effect  on  the  assailants,  ran  to  find  Dr. 
Franklin.  Then  Jean  Stuart,  still  very  white,  walked  up 
to  the  two  men,  and  put  her  hand  on  Thorley  Prescott's  arm. 

"Aren't  you  ashamed?"  she  said  quietly.  "You're  act- 
ing like  a  great  big  bully." 

Thorley's  hands  dropped  at  his  sides.  He  turned  to 
face  Jean,  his  whole  face  quivering. 

"I  wouldn't  have  had  you  know  this  for  the  world,"  he 
said,  and  he  threw  back  his  head  and  clenched  his  fists. 
"Not  that  there's  a  word  of  truth  in  it,"  he  declared ;  "any- 
body who  says  so,  is  a  liar  ! " 

"How  silly  you  are!"  Jean  answered.  "No  one  would 
have  paid  any  attention  to  this  rumor,  if  you  hadn't  con- 
firmed it  by  getting  so  excited.  I  think  you  said  we  were 
to  start  in  ten  minutes.  Unless  you  hurry  you  won't  have 
time  to  beg  Mr.  Standish 's  pardon." 

"And  he  swore  at  him,"  sobbed  Amy  Lea;  "even  if  he 
does  beg  his  pardon,  how  can  a  Christian  forgive  such  a  thing 
from  a  fellow-missionary?" 

A  faint  smile  lit  up  the  gloom  of  Thorley  Prescott's  face, 
and  found  an  answer  in  the  eyes  of  Roger  Standish.  The 
two  men  stepped  toward  each  other  and  shook  hands. 


A   DINNER    WITHOUT    DESSERT  139 

"I  apologize,"  said  Thorley,  in  his  gruffest  voice,  while 
Roger  burst  into  a  torrent  of  speech  in  which  excuses  were 
very  freely  mingled  with  such  expressions  as,  "That's  all 
right,  old  fellow.  Don't  say  another  word  about  it." 

Now  Dan  returned  with  news  that  the  buckboard  and 
horses  were  ready.  He  had  not  heard  the  quarrel  between 
Prescott  and  Standish,  but  he  knew  as  soon  as  he  entered 
the  room  that  something  was  the  matter. 

"Friends,"  he  said,  holding  up  his  hand,  "we  have  to 
thank  our  Heavenly  Father  for  a  great  deliverance.  Before 
we  separate,  shall  we  just  join  in  a  word  of  prayer?"  and 
the  simple  words  that  followed  drove  out  from  every  heart 
all  feelings  but  those  of  grave  thankfulness.  Yet  the  little 
procession  started  back  to  the  city  in  spirits  very  different 
from  those  of  the  morning.  Misfortune  had  been  their 
host  that  day,  and  Foreboding  travelled  back  with  them  to 
their  homes. 

"Please  be  careful,"  said  Jean,  as  Thorley  helped  her  into 
the  saddle.  "Prayers  for  your  safety  are  all  very  well ;  but 
if  you  should  be  imprudent  now  and  anything  should  happen, 
I  could  never  forgive  myself." 

"Nothing  that  has  happened,"  he  said  firmly,  "has  been 
your  fault  in  the  slightest  degree.  You  have  been  entirely 
a  blessing  to  us  all  —  especially  to  me."  Again  his  eyes 
spoke  more  eloquently  than  his  tongue,  and  he  held  her  hand 
for  an  instant  in  both  of  his. 

"He  meant  the  money,"  she  told  herself  as  she  picked  her 
way  down  the  mountain ;  but  he  did  not  mean  the  money ; 
and  she  knew  it  even  better  than  he  did. 


CHAPTER  XEX 

DIPLOMACY 

DR.  FRANKLIN  settled  down  into  the  well- worn  hollow  of 
his  easy-chair,  tired  out  after  a  most  perplexing  week. 
Several  days  had  passed  since  Isaac  of  Arawan  had  been 
shot.  The  wound  was  healing,  and  the  man  was  both  pa- 
tient and  grateful.  He  was  the  least  of  Dr.  Franklin's  per- 
plexities. 

Nothing  more  had  been  heard  of  the  rascal  in  the  green 
turban,  though  Thorley  Prescott  had  ridden  out  after  him 
as  soon  as  the  Lawrence  buckboard  was  out  of  sight  Thor- 
ley had  traced  him  until  his  tracks  were  lost  in  a  mountain 
brook,  then  very  reluctantly  he  had  been  obliged  to  give  it 
up.  When  Dr.  Franklin  scolded  him  for  exposing  himself, 
the  Thunderer  replied  :  — 

"If  it's  Husain,  I  promised  him  a  whipping  in  case  he  ever 
bothered  us  again.  Besides,  I  took  a  couple  of  fellows  with 
me." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  worry  which  had  tired  Dr. 
Franklin  out.  All  the  week  he  and  the  other  gentlemen  had 
been  working  to  make  the  Governor  realize  that  he  must 
protect  the  American  citizens  in  Muramna  against  this 
unknown  enemy  of  theirs.  Dr.  Lawrence  and  his  son  had 
ridden  to  the  Governor's  palace  as  soon  as  Dan  returned  from 
Akbar  on  the  afternoon  of  the  shooting.  But  the  Governor 
had  retired  to  his  anderoon.  It  was  not  until  Monday  that 
the  Lawrences  obtained  an  audience,  and  then  they  came 
away  with  very  little  satisfaction.  Dr.  Franklin  had  been 
present.  He  shook  his  head  now  as  he  thought  over  the 
interview.  The  Governor  had  been  very  agreeable.  He 

140 


DIPLOMACY  141 

had  welcomed  his  dear  Inglesi  with  many  compliments.  He 
was  desolated  at  the  thought  that  danger  had  come  near  to 
them ;  indeed,  it  had  made  him  so  ill  that  he  must  ask  the 
Hakim  Saib  to  feel  his  pulse ;  but  inshallah,  what  could  he 
do?  Kismet.  The  will  of  Allah  must  be  accomplished, 
even  though  it  grieved  the  affections  of  the  Governor.  Oh 
yes,  he  could  send  men  after  the  Hadji,  but  what  would  that 
accomplish?  For  what  reason  should  he  punish  him,  if 
caught?  No  harm  had  as  yet  been  done. 

Dr.  Lawrence  reminded  His  Excellency  that  one  of  his 
subjects,  a  faithful  and  innocent  man,  had  been  painfully 
wounded,  but  the  Governor  knowing  the  religion  of  his 
faithful  subject,  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  muttered  some 
proverb  that  had  to  do  with  "the  blood  of  a  dog."  The 
only  bright  spot  in  the  interview,  Dr.  Franklin  thought, 
had  been  Dan  Lawrence's  way  with  the  Governor.  Dan 
had  the  patience  which  comes  only  after  years  of  Oriental 
life.  He  was  not  uneasy  while  the  Governor  was  smoking 
his  narghileh.  He  could  sit  quietly  with  folded  hands,  the 
friendly  smile  deepening  from  time  to  time  in  his  gray  eyes. 
His  was  the  charity  which  extends  not  only  to  the  humbly 
unfortunate,  but  to  those  in  high  position  whose  ignorance 
of  their  trust  makes  them  far  more  pitiable.  These  quali- 
ties of  patience  and  tact  Dr.  Franklin  had  long  admired  in 
Dan's  father;  but  it  happened  that  his  opportunities  of 
seeing  them  in  the  son  had  not  been  many.  He  almost 
laughed  out  loud  when  he  remembered  how  Dan  had  turned 
aside  the  Governor's  suggestion  of  furnishing  guards  to  live 
at  Akbar. 

"Might  as  well  wear  a  leech  over  your  heart  to  keep  out 
the  bullets,"  had  been  the  doctor's  thought  when  this  mu- 
nificent offer  was  graciously  made.  It  was  Dan  who  had 
finally  lodged  in  the  Governor's  mind  the  idea  that  he" would 
issue  a  proclamation  for  the  future  protection  of  his  dear 
Inglesi.  With  a  sigh,  the  doctor  wondered  how  much  good 


142  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

that  proclamation  with  its  lurid  language  could  possibly  do. 
Well,  this  was  all  they  could  hope  from  the  Governor ;  and 
there  were  other  perplexities  to  be  settled. 

Of  these  perhaps  the  most  immediate  was  Mr.  Freyer. 
This  gentleman  had  absolutely  made  up  his  mind  that  the 
shooting  was  a  plain  indication  of  Providence.  It  meant 
that  the  Rev.  Henry  Freyer  was  to  do  his  winter's  work, 
not  at  Samarvam,  but  on  Mt.  Akbar.  One  American,  he 
declared,  had  no  business  to  live  alone  on  the  mountain. 
If  the  relief  work  amounted  to  anything,  Prescott  would  have 
to  spend  most  of  his  time  there.  No  one  of  the  regular  staff 
in  Muramna  could  possibly  be  spared  to  keep  him  company ; 
and  Prescott  himself  ought  not  to  be  obliged,  by  continuing 
his  work  at  the  Treasury,  to  ride  back  and  forth  daily  be- 
tween Akbar  and  the  city.  If  Mr.  Freyer  gave  up  for  this 
winter  his  work  at  Samarvam,  it  would  leave  Standish  free, 
under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Dan  Lawrence,  to  fill  in  at  the 
Treasury  and  the  Press.  But  Mr.  Freyer's  greatest  argu- 
ment for  staying  was  that  he  could  accomplish  more  re- 
ligious work  at  Akbar  than  at  Samarvam.  The  men  who 
were  making  water-pipes  were  gathered  from  all  parts  of  the 
mountains  and  the  plain.  There  probably  never  had  been 
such  an  opportunity  for  spreading  the  Gospel.  These 
men  would  stay  on  the  mountain  all  winter.  Sabbath 
after  Sabbath,  evening  after  evening,  Mr.  Freyer  could 
meet  with  them.  In  the  spring  they  would  go  back  to 
their  own  people,  taking  with  them  the  Word  of  Life. 
Last  Monday  at  Station  meeting  he  had  moved  that  they 
write  to  the  Board  for  permission.  The  motion  had  been 
carried  and  the  letter  sent,  before  it  was  known  that  Thorley 
Prescott,  who  had  not  come  down  to  the  meeting,  was  ve- 
hemently opposed  to  Mr.  Freyer's  plan. 

When  Dr.  Franklin  thought  over  the  remaining  days  of 
the  week,  he  was  ready  to  clutch  at  his  thick  grizzled  hair. 
Tuesday  his  little  Harriet  had  been  taken  ill.  The  trouble 


DIPLOMACY  143 

seemed  to  be  nothing  serious ;  but  every  night  her  tempera- 
ture went  up,  and  through  the  day  she  was  languid  and 
fretful,  not  at  all  like  herself.  Yedgar,  over  at  Sawam,  had 
almost  died  of  ignorant  nursing  and  had  to  be  brought 
suddenly  down  to  the  Hospital  at  the  risk  of  his  life.  There 
were  extra  Station  meetings;  there  was  another  audience 
with  the  Governor;  there  were  countless  interviews  with 
informers  who  claimed  to  have  news  about  the  man  who 
shot  Isaac,  but  would  not  for  the  world  testify  against  him 
in  a  Moslem  law-court. 

"The  worst  of  it  is,"  thought  the  doctor,  "  that  the  whole 
Station  is  up  on  its  ear  and  everybody  seems  to  expect  me 
to  settle  the  mess.  I'd  just  like  to  know  what's  going  to 
happen,  anyway !" 

When  Mrs.  Franklin  came  into  the  room  a  few  minutes 
later,  she  found  her  husband  bolt  upright  in  a  rocking-chair 
that  squeaked.  This  was  a  bad  sign.  Moreover,  he  was 
reading  an  ancient  "  Commentary  on  the  Book  of  Job  "  and 
was  scowling  horribly,  partly  because  he  had  forgotten  to 
put  on  his  glasses.  The  worst  sign  of  all  was  that  he  paid 
no  attention  when  she  came  and  sat  down  in  her  low  rocker 
with  its  old  blue  cushion.  Being  a  superlatively  wise 
woman,  Mrs.  Franklin  went  one  step  farther  than  to  say 
nothing.  She  forced  herself  not  to  go  and  extract  her  hus- 
band's glasses  from  his  pocket  and  put  them  on  over  that  tre- 
mendous scowl.  It  was  better  to  let  him  get  his  headache 
in  such  peace  as  he  could  extract  from  the  Commentary  on 
Job.  She  did  just  reach  out  and  pick  up  the  new  copy  of 
"Mr.  Dooley,"  which  had  come  that  week  by  mail  from 
America.  She  had  meant  to  save  this  favorite  philosopher 
of  the  doctor's  to  put  in  his  Christmas  stocking,  but  in  the 
last  week  a  greater  need  had  arisen,  so  "Mr.  Dooley"  was 
sacrificed.  Now  he  had  lain  for  three  days  on  the  doctor's 
table,  his  leaves  uncut,  and  his  glazed  paper  wrapping  still 
untouched ;  for  the  doctor  loved  to  crackle  this  in  his  hand 


144  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

because  it  was  so  new  and  then  throw  it  away.  (Needless 
to  say,  his  wife  always  smoothed  it  out  and  used  it;  for 
American  waxed  paper  is  at  a  premium  in  Persia.) 

No  wonder  Mrs.  Franklin  had  left  off  asking  questions 
and  preventing  headaches.  She  herself  did  not  care  so  very 
much  about  perusing  "Mr.  Dooley."  She  liked  to  hear 
it  burred  out  in  the  doctor's  big  voice,  with  shouts  of 
laughter  from  him  and  the  twins.  She  loved  to  listen  for 
little  Harriet's  trill,  which  came  in  tardily  after  an  outburst 
from  the  others.  She  liked  to  watch  Mary  Freyer's  grave 
face  as  her  literal  mind  grappled  with  the  joke  before  last. 
But  to  sit  down  in  cold  blood  and  read  "Mr.  Dooley"  by 
herself !  Yet  something  must  be  done.  Mrs.  Franklin's 
head  bent  lower  and  lower  over  the  green  book,  and  her  de- 
licious laugh  was  heard  every  now  and  then  gurgling  in  her 
throat. 

"Mercy  on  us,  Kate!  Do  hold  your  head  up.  What 
are  you  laughing  about,  anyway?" 

"Oh,  Harry,  listen  to  this."  Mrs.  Franklin  read  out  a 
carefully  chosen  passage  with  a  brogue  that  was  a  blatant 
departure  from  the  real  thing. 

"Here,  give  it  to  me.  How  can  I  understand  it,  when 
you  read  like  a  Normal  School  graduate?"  The  doctor 
stretched  out  his  great  hand;  but  Mrs.  Franklin  put  the 
book  behind  her. 

"What  must  you  do,  Harry,  before  I  can  allow  you  to 
read  any  book  of  mine  ?  " 

"Any  book  of  yours,  hey?  I  thought  those  'Dooleys' 
belonged  to  me." 

"This  one  is  mine.  See  how  new  it  is?"  She  let  the 
cover  stick  out  from  behind  her  back,  and  twisting  her  neck 
around,  began  to  skim  the  Table  of  Contents.  The  next 
moment  she  and  the  book  were  transported  across  the  room, 
and  the  doctor,  with  his  glasses  on  and  his  wife  in  his  lap, 
was  reading  aloud  from  the  new  "Mr.  Dooley." 


DIPLOMACY  145 

"Not  so  very  funny,  is  it?"  he  said,  after  the  first  para- 
graph ;  but  in  the  middle  of  the  next  he  began  to  chuckle. 
At  the  end  of  the  page  he  laughed  outright ;  and  the  second 
page  was  so  plentifully  besprinkled  with  Ha-has  that  the 
easy-chair  creaked  under  him  and  Edward  and  Edith  came 
in  from  their  studying  in  the  next  room,  clamoring  for  a 
share  in  the  joke. 

It  was  long  past  their  usual  bedtime  when  the  twins  were 
sent  upstairs.  They  closed  the  door  behind  them  so  re- 
luctantly that  Edward  could  be  heard  saying  to  Edith, 
"Say,  Ede,  isn't  Pa  a  bird?" 

Edith's  answer  came  quickly  and  clearly.  "He's  the 
dearest  Father  in  the  whole  world,  and  as  for  Mother ! 
Why,  Ted,  I  believe  Miss  Stuart  is  right.  She  says  children 
in  America  don't  have  fun  with  their  parents  as  we  do. 
There  isn't  time." 

Edward's  reply  was  partly  lost  in  the  distance,  but  Dr. 
Franklin  caught  the  words,  "Bully  old  Persia,"  and  then 
something  like  "good  enough  for  me." 

"Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  laying  her  cheek  against 
her  husband's  rough  beard,  "I  think  those  children  of  ours 
are  pretty  nice." 

"Kate,"  said  the  doctor  suddenly,  "the  little  tad  must  be 
better,  or  you  wouldn't  have  left  her  all  this  time." 

"Sleeping  sweetly  when  I  came  down,"  answered  Mrs. 
Franklin.  "No  temperature  at  all  and  a  lovely  color  in  her 
cheeks.  Yulea  was  to  call  me  if  she  stirred." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  before?"  asked  the  doctor. 
"You  know  I  was  worried  about  her." 

Mrs.  Franklin  took  his  head  between  her  hands  and 
rumpled  up  his  hair  until  he  looked  like  the  Wild  Man  of 
Borneo.  "Last  time  I  found  you  reading  the  Book  of  Job, 
you  wouldn't  believe  me  when  I  told  you  I  had  found  my 
pearl  brooch  that  we  thought  was  stolen  by  your  assistant." 
Her  laugh  was  low  and  indulgent  as  she  began  to  smooth 


146  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

his  hair  down  again,  with  the  soft  little  touches  which  he 
loved. 

"Oh,  Katie,"  he  cried,  "I  let  you  bear  all  the  burdens, 
your  own  and  mine  to  boot.  What  if  I  should  change 
from  now  on  and  be  a  better  man?" 

She  nestled  closer  to  whisper  in  his  ear,  "Don't,  please. 
I  believe  I  like  you  best  of  all  just  exactly  as  you  are." 


CHAPTER  XX 

WAY  FOR  THE   BLACK  SAIB 

THE  weeks  that  followed  the  shooting  at  Akbar  were  ac- 
tually pleasant  to  one  member  of  the  Station  only.  All 
the  others  were  more  or  less  upset  by  the  feeling  that  they 
had  an  enemy  with  an  active  revolver.  The  women  espe- 
cially found  it  hard  to  get  back  their  tranquillity.  The  fear 
that  weighed  them  down  was  all  the  more  sickening  because 
it  was  not  for  themselves.  They  had  to  stand  by  and  see 
their  husbands  ride  out  as  usual  into  the  villages.  Perhaps 
there  was  a  little  more  fervor  in  their  good-by  kisses,  but 
the  lips  that  gave  them  tried  hard  not  to  quiver  and  the 
eyes  that  watched  long  from  upstairs  windows  despised  the 
curtain  of  tears ;  and  no  wife  neglected  through  those  anx- 
ious weeks  to  say  with  all  her  heart  in  some  form  the  little 
prayer  long  since  become  a  part  of  her  daily  life :  "Lord,  if 
it  be  Thy  will,  keep  him  safe  until  I  see  him  again."  Per- 
haps the  women  who  were  not  wives  had  prayers  of  their  own, 
not  confided  to  human  ears. 

Concerning  all  this  uneasiness,  of  which  he  was  partly  the 
cause,  Thorley  Prescott  alone  was  heedless.  To  him  these 
weeks  were  a  time  of  exhilaration.  He  felt  that  the  enmity 
of  Husain  was  directed  toward  himself  alone.  This  being 
so,  he  drank  the  wine  of  danger  and  rode  to  and  from  his 
work  with  his  black  head  held  high  and  his  eyes  looking 
straight  ahead.  It  would  have  been  a  satisfaction,  of  course, 
if  he  could  have  kept  his  promise  of  punishing  Husain  with 
his  own  hands ;  but  having  done  his  best  to  catch  the  rascal 
redhanded,  he  was  content  now  to  wait  another  opportunity. 

Besides,  he  was  too  busy  these  days  to  bother  about  it. 

147 


148  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

There  were  one  or  two  bothers  that  had  to  be  given  place  in 
his  thoughts.  One  was  the  body-guard  which  his  workmen 
insisted  upon  forming  whenever  their  Black  Saib  took  his 
rides  abroad.  They  treated  him  like  a  general  or  a  prince 
and  would  have  called  him  by  at  least  one  of  these  titles, 
had  he  permitted  it. 

The  words  of  the  Black  Saib  were  law  to  his  men,  except 
in  this  one  matter  of  the  body-guard.  Six  of  them  at  least 
would  go  with  him  whenever  he  left  the  shelter  of  the  Mis- 
sion wall.  Sent  back  to  their  work,  they  shuddered  at  the 
tone  of  command,  and  made  as  if  to  obey ;  but  if  the  Black 
Saib  deigned  to  turn  his  head,  he  would  see  behind  him  at  a 
distance  respectful  but  not  too  remote,  his  invariable  body- 
guard. It  was  an  honor  much  sought  after,  to  ride  with  the 
Saib,  an  honor  that  was  apportioned  by  the  workmen  them- 
selves on  principles  that  were  not  revealed  to  the  mission- 
aries. Thorley  did  notice  that  none  ran  with  him,  except 
strong  men  and  good  fighters.  He  did  try  to  inquire  where 
they  got  the  three  horses  whose  condition  improved  so 
markedly  from  day  to  day;  but  the  matter  remained  a 
mystery  ornamented  by  a  profusion  of  language  and  gesticu- 
lations. Thorley  tried  to  disband  the  body-guard  by  threat- 
ening to  dock  their  wages,  though  whatever  work  he  laid  out 
for  them  was  always  promptly  finished.  He  hardened  his 
heart  and  gave  out  that  whoever  left  the  premises  in  work- 
ing hours  except  by  his  permission,  should  receive  no  wages 
for  the  entire  day. 

The  next  morning  he  started  for  the  city,  chuckling  over 
his  prospect  of  freedom.  At  the  first  ford  the  neigh  of  a 
horse  made  him  turn  around,  and  there,  at  the  usual  distance, 
he  beheld  his  body-guard,  three  riding,  as  always,  and  three 
running.  The  Black  Saib  said  things  under  his  breath 
which  it  was  lucky  the  Fiend  could  not  repeat.  He  found 
these  incidents  hard  to  explain  and  talked  the  whole  thing 
over  that  day  with  Dan  Lawrence. 


WAY   FOR    THE   BLACK   SAIB  149 

Perhaps  it  was  through  Dan  that  Jean  Stuart  came  to  hear 
of  it.  However  it  was,  she  made  herself  mistress  of  all  the 
facts.  Then  she  sent  a  note  to  Thorley,  demanding  that 
the  body-guard  be  authorized,  and  that  they  be  given  full 
wages  for  all  time  they  spent  in  riding  and  running  with 
their  chief.  The  note  was  peremptory  and  in  the  event 
final ;  but  it  gave  occasion  for  discussions  between  Thorley 
and  Jean,  which  were  by  no  means  few  nor  short  nor  perhaps 
concerned  exclusively  with  body-guards,  wages,  and  water- 
pipes. 

It  was  in  those  three  weeks,  however,  that  Jean  Stuart 
learned  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  work  at  Akbar.  She  was 
the  first  to  hear  that  the  roofs  of  the  new  dwellings  were  in 
place.  She  learned  to  dread  the  rain  or  snow  that  would 
interfere  with  their  being  properly  rolled.  She  heard  the 
names  of  all  the  new  workmen  who  were  taken  on  when  the 
dormitories  were  ready.  The  names  of  the  first  thirty-three 
were  already  familiar  to  her ;  and  with  most  of  the  body- 
guard detail  she  had  a  bowing  acquaintance.  It  was  she 
who  rejoiced  most  intelligently  when  improved  moulds  of 
hard  wood  increased  the  output  of  water-pipes  by  at  least 
one  hundred  per  diem.  It  was  she  who  clapped  her  hands 
when  the  Governor  of  Muramna  gave  his  order  in  writing 
for  three  thousand  water-pipes.  This  was  a  triumph,  in- 
deed, celebrated  by  the  Khanum  with  the  Head  of  the  Rising 
Sun  with  many  gleeful  words  and  a  radiance  of  face  that 
was  fairly  dazzling  to  the  one  spectator. 

Thorley  Prescott  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  Jean's  sym- 
pathy. Every  glance  from  the  golden  depths  of  her  gray 
eyes  gave  him  greater  confidence  in1  his  own  powers. 
Every  sparkle  of  light  in  the  ruddy  crinkles  of  her  hair  gave 
him  one  more  glimpse  into  the  joy  of  his  new  work.  There 
were  moments  when  his  bitterness  all  melted  away  and  the 
future  gleamed  before  him  full  of  ruddiness  and  sunshine. 
At  such  a  moment  it  would  have  been  a  hazard  to  remind 


150  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

the  Thunderer  of  what  he  used  to  say  about  women  with 
red  hair.  Even  the  difficulty  with  Mr.  Freyer  grew  to  seem 
a  thing  of  no  importance.  If  the  little  man  wanted  to 
spend  the  winter  puttering  around  on  the  mountain,  why 
not  let  him  ?  After  all,  it  would  be  a  saving  of  labor  for  the 
Black  Saib.  Prescott  knew  that  if  he  were  left  alone  with 
his  workmen,  he  would  have  to  think  out  ways  of  teaching 
them  to  become  so  different  that  the  difference  would  go 
back  with  them  in  the  end  to  their  old  homes.  The  part 
that  surprised  him  was  to  find  that  there  were  already  many 
ways  which  he  would  like  to  explain  to  them,  if  he  could  do 
so  without  danger  of  being  overheard  by  any  one  who  called 
himself  an  orthodox  missionary.  Unconsciously  he  had  been 
looking  forward  through  his  first  weeks  at  Akbar  to  the  time 
when  he  would  be  alone  with  his  men.  When,  therefore, 
Mr.  Freyer  announced  his  intention  of  staying  all  winter, 
it  was  in  a  rage  of  disappointment  that  Thorley  declared 
the  plan  needless  and  wasteful  of  working  force.  The  good 
little  man  with  his  quivering  beard  and  middle-aged  fussi- 
ness,  irritated  the  nerves  of  his  "young  brother."  Mr. 
Freyer  never  could  learn  anything  about  the  industry  which 
was  the  reason  for  forming  a  colony  at  Akbar.  The  busi- 
ness purpose  in  itself  was  to  him  anathema.  It  was  fitting, 
he  owned,  that  the  men  should  spend  a  part  of  each  day  in 
laboring  with  their  hands.  Otherwise  it  might  not  be  for 
their  good  to  give  them  money ;  but  water-pipes,  reservoirs, 
and  even  roofs  over  their  heads  were  of  no  importance  what- 
ever as  compared  with  the  opportunities  given  them  of  hear- 
ing the  Gospel  from  the  lips  of  the  Rev.  Henry  Freyer.  It 
was  hard  to  keep  him  from  talking  with  the  men,  even  while 
they  were  at  work.  It  was  impossible  to  explain  any  theory 
which  made  faithful  labor  an  article  of  religion  and  strove 
to  correct  the  life  of  a  lazy  man  who  had  wallowed  in  dirt 
and  ignorance,  by  making  him  first  of  all  industrious  and 
clean.  Mr.  Freyer  and  Thorley  Prescott  approached  the 


WAY   FOR    THE   BLACK    SAIB  151 

subject  from  opposite  ends  of  parallel  lines.  Even  Dan 
Lawrence  shook  his  head  and  dared  not  hope  that  the  double 
solitude  of  a  winter  together  would  bring  them  to  a  common 
point.  He  wished  he  had  been  at  the  meeting  which  au- 
thorized Mr.  Freyer's  letter  to  the  Board.  When  he  said 
so  to  Dr.  Franklin,  that  much  harassed  gentleman  very 
nearly  lost  his  temper.  He  stood  and  breathed  hard  through 
his  mouth  like  an  engine  letting  off  steam.  This  was  a 
peculiar  habit  which  the  doctor  had  cultivated  since  leaving 
Milwaukee. 

"Drat  it!"  he  said  at  last,  drooping  his  big  shoulders 
and  spreading  his  hands  helplessly,  "what  are  we  going  to 
do  ?"  They  were  in  Dan's  study,  and  a  knock  at  the  door 
interrupted  the  answer  that  Dan  did  not  know  how  to  give. 

"It's  the  telephone,  Papa,"  said  Danny.  "I  think  some 
one  wants  Dr.  Franklin." 

The  doctor  took  himself  downstairs,  dragging  his  feet  and 
grumbling  a  little  into  his  beard.  Three  minutes  later  he 
shouted  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs:  "Dan,  Mr.  Freyer's 
got  a  severe  attack  of  rheumatism.  He's  laid  up  at  our 
house.  I  guess  that'll  fix  us,  won't  it  ?  " 

Ruth  Lawrence,  very  much  shocked,  confided  to  her 
mother  that  it  sounded  as  if  Uncle  Harry  was  pleased  to 
hear  that  Mr.  Freyer  was  sick. 

The  fact  is  that  Dr.  Franklin  was  pleased  and  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  say  so  within  bounds.  Mr.  Freyer's  attack  was 
severe  enough  to  settle  the  question  of  his  going  to  Samar- 
vam.  He  would  have  to  stay  in  Muramna  that  winter. 
Moreover,  it  was  easy  to  decree  that  the  life  at  Akbar  was 
too  exposed  for  him.  He  had  brought  on  this  very  attack 
while  sleeping  one  night  on  the  ground  floor  when  the  new 
houses  were  in  building.  Dr.  Franklin  put  down  his  huge 
foot  and  declared  that  the  place  for  Henry  Freyer  that  win- 
ter was  unquestionably  in  the  Franklin  household.  And 
oh,  how  happy  was  Mary  Freyer  !  She  made  milk  toast 


152  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

and  simmered  broth  and  garnished  trays  to  her  heart's 
content.  All  her  hours  now  were  shining,  except  the  ones 
she  spent  in  school  or,  much  to  her  disgust,  outdoors.  Mr. 
Freyer,  who  thought  her  a  perfect  nurse,  made  haste  to 
reward  her  by  getting  well.  He  resigned  himself  to  the 
doctor's  decree,  looking  forward  submissively  to  a  winter 
of  Treasury  and  Press  work. 

"Funny,"  said  Dr.  Franklin  to  his  wife,  late  on  Christmas 
Eve,  while  they  sat  looking  at  the  row  of  stockings  hung  up 
around  the  stove,  "funny,  isn't  it,  how  the  Lord  lets  us  fuss 
and  fume,  trying  to  figure  out  the  answer  to  a  problem,  and 
all  the  time  He  has  it  ready  to  give,  and  it  all  comes  out 
just  as  even !" 

"Do  you  call  Mr.  Freyer's  rheumatic  fever  an  answer 
from  the  Lord?"  asked  Mrs.  Franklin. 

"Well,  what  do  you  call  it  ?  Hasn't  it  just  settled  every- 
thing without  a  remainder  or  a  flaw  ?  " 

Mrs.  Franklin,  resting  her  tired  head  against  the  back  of 
her  chair,  only  smiled. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   TREE 

JEAN  STUART  was  amazed  to  find  herself  completely  under 
the  spell  of  a  really  Merry  Christmas.  It  began  at  the 
Lawrences'  with  the  Christmas  Eve  supper  where  Danny 
appeared,  his  eyes  dancing  and  his  lips  held  together  with 
both  hands,  "for  fear,"  Ruth  gravely  explained,  "that  the 
secrets  should  burst  out  of  him  before  the  tree  is  ready." 

It  had  already  been  conveyed  to  Jean  that  day  by  many 
signs  and  mysteries  that  a  Tree  was  being  trimmed  and 
loaded  in  Dan's  study  upstairs.  Knowing  that  evergreens 
did  not  grow  in  Persia,  Jean  wondered  how  the  Lawrences 
could  get  a  Christmas  Tree ;  but,  though  she  managed  to 
smuggle  a  pile  of  gay  parcels  into  the  sacred  room,  she  asked 
no  questions,  and  even  refused  Danny's  invitation  to  "Take 
a  peek  with  us  children,  since  you  don't  seem  to  be  helping 
the  'grown-ups.' ' 

After  supper  there  was  an  unusual  kind  of  family  prayers. 
The  children  recited  Christmas  hymns,  the  grown-ups  said 
verses  around;  they  all  sang  "While  Shepherds  Watched," 
the  servants  joining,  with  friendly  but  inharmonious  results 
by  means  of  the  Syriac  version.  Then  Grandpa  "prayed 
short."  "But  I  think,"  Danny  whispered  to  Miss  Stuart, 
"that  Mamma  ast  him  to." 

This  confidence  took  place  when  prayers  were  over  and 
the  gentlemen  had  vanished  up  the  stairs  "to  light  the 
Tree,"  as  Danny  further  explained,  with  his  ear  to  the  crack 
of  the  door.  "Now,  Ruth,"  he  added  severely,  "you  better 
keep  puffeckly  still,  or  we  can't  hear  the  music  when  it 
sounds." 


154  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

"Music  !"  cried  Jean,  "what  kind  of  music?" 

"Oh,  any  kind/'  said  Danny  carelessly,  "if  there  isn't  a 
mouth-organ  or  a  horn,  there's  uzhally  a  bell,  at  least.  You 
just  wait." 

So  Jean  just  waited,  and  presently  she  did  hear  an  extraor- 
dinary mixture  of  sounds  coming  down  from  above. 

"Come,  Ruth,"  cried  Danny,  "take  hold  of  my  hand, 
quick.  Is  the  percession  ready,  Mamma?  Do  make  the 
servants  hurry." 

"You  may  start,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lawrence,  offering  her 
arm  to  Jean,  and  leading  her  to  a  place  behind  the  children. 
"We  let  the  youngest  go  first  on  this  occasion,"  she  ex- 
plained as  they  went  upstairs,  followed  by  a  group  of  ser- 
vants giggling  with  delight  and  curiosity. 

Jean  could  not  help  pausing  for  an  instant  in  the  sacred 
doorway  as  she  took  in  the  fact  that  the  object  around  which 
the  children  were  already  dancing  was  not  more  than  three 
feet  high,  made  of  metal,  and  sparsely  bedight  with  artificial 
green  needles.  Yet  the  Tree,  set  on  a  high  pedestal  and 
blazing  with  candles  and  tinsel,  flaunted  its  sparse  green 
needles  on  its  geometrical  green  branches  as  proudly  as  if 
it  knew  itself  to  be  the  realest  Christmas  Tree  that  had  ever 
been  set  up  in  Persia. 

"Wait  until  you  have  hung  your  presents  for  thirty  years 
on  the  bare  branches  of  a  cherry  tree,"  said  Dan  Lawrence 
in  Miss  Stuart's  ear,  "then  you  will  appreciate  the  splendor 
of  this  makeshift." 

"I  really  think,"  declared  Margaret,  joining  them,  "that 
there's  nothing  important  missing  except  the  smell.  Last 
year  I  burned  my  old  pine  pillow  in  the  stove  and  that  was 
lovely,  but  — 

Jean  Stuart  vanished  from  the  room  and  came  back  in- 
stantly with  the  pine  pillow  which  had  been  her  most  faith- 
ful travelling  companion. 

"Have  you  a  knife,  Mr.  Lawrence?"    she  cried.     "I 


THE   TREE  155 

couldn't  wait  to  hunt  for  scissors.  There  now ! "  as  she 
flung  a  generous  handful  of  needles  into  the  stove,  "who 
says  this  isn't  the  genuine  Christmas  smell,  warranted  to 
cause  and  cure  homesickness  before  you  have  time  to  wipe 
your  eyes?" 

"You'll  have  to  keep  on  wiping  them,  if  you  leave  that 
stove  door  open,"  said  Dan. 

But  Jean  and  Margaret  continued  to  dole  out  the  needles 
sparingly  while  the  old  stove,  which  had  been  raised  hi  the 
State  of  Maine,  showed  its  gratitude  by  smoking  very  little. 

"Papa,"  whispered  Danny,  plucking  his  parent  by  the 
sleeve,  "aren't  we  ever  going  to  have  the  presents?  I  sh'd 
think  you  grown-ups  could  do  your  smelling  afterwards." 

Dan  laughed  and  looked  at  his  wife,  jerking  his  head 
questioningly  toward  the  presents  heaped  up  under  the 
Tree. 

"Yes,  yes,  by  all  means,"  answered  Margaret;  and  Dan, 
going  over  to  the  Tree,  began  to  read  the  labels. 

The  rule  was  that  when  a  person's  name  was  called, 
he  rushed  up  to  get  his  present,  said  a  vague  but  hearty 
''Thank  you,"  and  retired  to  open  his  package,  after  which 
he  indulged  in  fervent  ejaculations  and  made  for  himself 
the  path  of  a  whirlwind  until  he  had  seized  and  kissed  the 
giver  of  the  gift.  When  several  whirlwinds  were  let  loose 
at  once  in  the  little  room,  the  result  was  all  that  could  be 
desired  in  the  way  of  a  thrill. 

Never  were  there  such  presents  ! 

Dan  Lawrence  cried,  "Just  what  I  wanted  ! "  as  he  slipped 
his  arms  into  the  dressing-gown  made  by  his  wife  from  a  piano- 
cover  brought  out  in  the  eighteen  sixties  by  her  mother-in- 
law.  Dan  was  echoed  by  Grandpa  Lawrence,  who  took  off 
his  glasses  to  wipe  them  on  the  cleaner  Ruth  had  made 
from  the  tops  of  her  mother's  wedding-gloves.  Miss  Stuart 
hugged  Danny  nearly  in  two  when  she  found  that  he  had 
given  her  the  Persian  box  which  she  had  often  admired  on 


156  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

his  bureau ;  and  he  returned  the  hug  with  interest  after  he 
came  upon  a  pair  of  rubber  boots,  abundantly  large  for  his 
feet,  it  is  true,  but  suited  exactly  to  his  ambitions  as  a  pirate, 
and  to  his  needs  as  a  small  boy  shuffling  in  mud  puddles. 

Jean's  treasures  grew  too  bulky  at  last  to  be  easily  carried 
around.  So  she  sat  down  near  the  gangway  door  to  gloat 
over  them  as  she  spread  them  in  her  lap :  Danny's  box, 
Ruth's  needle-case,  the  beautiful  old  saddle-bag  to  hold  her 
books  and  lunch  when  she  rode  to  the  College.  This  was 
from  Dr.  Lawrence,  who  had  used  it  for  many  years  in  his 
village  work.  The  Franklin  twins  had  sent  her  home-made 
candy  in  a  gorgeous  box,  and  little  Harriet  had  tied  together 
two  pieces  of  blotting-paper  and  lettered  on  the  outside  in 
crooked  capitals,  —  I  LUV  U.  Dr.  MacColl  had  given  her 
an  old  book  with  an  inscription  in  it  —  "From  Jonathan 
Stuart  to  his  faithful  friend  Dugald  MacColl";  Margaret 
Lawrence  had  sacrificed  her  last  copy  of  a  picture  of  the 
children  which  Jean  particularly  liked;  and  Dan  himself 
had  made  a  frame  for  it  from  an  old  piece  of  pearl  inlay. 

Altogether  no  lapful  of  gifts  had  ever  caused  Jean  Stuart 
to  feel  so  rich,  though,  taken  all  together,  excepting  the 
doctor's  book,  they  could  not  compare  in  money  value  with 
one  box  of  American  Beauty  roses.  And  Miss  Stuart  of 
New  York  had  been  known  to  receive  more  than  one  such 
box  at  Christmas.  With  the  thought  of  roses,  it  occurred 
to  her  how  queer  it  would  be  to  pass  a  holiday  season  free 
from  the  tribute  of  male  admirers.  At  which  psychological 
moment  she  heard  on  the  gangway  leading  to  the  Prescott's 
house,  a  decided  and  hasty  step.  The  next  instant  there 
came  a  thundering  knock  at  the  outer  door.  Danny,  who 
was  prancing  about  in  his  new  boots,  made  haste  to  open 
the  door,  and  was  confronted  by  no  less  a  personage  than 
Santa  Claus  with  white  beard  and  apple-red  cheeks,  coat 
and  cap  of  dark  sheepskin  powdered  with  snow,  and  arms 
full  of  bundles. 


THE   TREE  157 

Danny  fell  back  in  amazement,  the  servants  crowded 
toward  the  hall-door,  Ruth  took  refuge  behind  her  mother, 
who  looked  helplessly  at  Dan,  who,  in  turn,  stared  at  the 
stranger.  Santa  Claus,  meanwhile,  peered  around  the 
room  until  his  eyes  rested  on  Miss  Stuart,  who  sat  a  little 
behind  him  against  the  wall.  Then  he  smiled ;  after  which 
his  identity  was  no  longer  a  question  with  Jean  Stuart. 

Santa  Claus  advanced  a  step  and,  after  clearing  his  throat, 
said,  in  a  high  nasal  voice,  ''Merry  Christmas,  good  people. 
I  have  brought  you  a  few  small  gifts." 

"Why  did  he  clear  his  throat?"  thought  Jean.  "They 
must  recognize  him  now,  though  he  does  the  voice  part  well 
enough." 

But  apparently  he  was  not  recognized ;  for  the  Lawrences 
continued  to  stand  speechless,  and  for  the  most  part  open- 
mouthed,  while  Santa,  with  remarks  more  or  less  appro- 
priate, distributed  a  gift  to  each  person.  The  servants, 
meanwhile,  had  huddled  out  into  the  hall,  and  could  be  heard 
falling  over  each  other  down  the  stairs.  Dan  went  out  to 
quiet  them,  assuring  them  that  the  stranger  was  a  friend 
from  Mr.  Prescott's,  and  if  they  came  back  they  would  soon 
see  that  he  was  not  to  be  feared.  Santa's  gift  to  him  of  a 
silver-mounted  riding-whip  with  the  second  half  of  the  in- 
scription more  roughly  engraved  than  the  first,  had  revealed 
to  Dan  who  their  benefactor  was.  The  servants  were 
further  reassured  by  the  gift  of  a  large  parcel  of  sweetmeats. 
Then  Santa,  turning  to  Miss  Stuart,  and  going  down  on  one 
knee,  laid  at  her  feet  a  small  parcel.  Jean  smiled  at  him. 

"I'm  sorry  I  can't  pick  it  up.  You  see  how  full  my  lap  is. 
Besides,  you  must  make  me  a  speech,  too." 

Santa  humbly  picked  up  the  parcel  and  laid  it  in  her  hand. 

"You'll  find  the  speech  written,"  he  said  in  his  natural 
voice.  Then,  turning  around,  he  snatched  off  his  cap, 
making  a  low  bow,  which  showed  off  a  head  of  coal-black 
hair. 


158  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"I  hoped  if  I  came  as  Santa  Claus,"  he  said,  "that  you 
might  let  me  stay  awhile." 

The  children  flung  themselves  on  him,  tore  off  his  beard, 
and  tried  to  rub  the  color  from  his  cheeks. 

Meanwhile,  Jean  read  her  speech.  "For  an  intellectual 
woman  whom  I  find  it  impossible  to  hate." 

When  she  opened  the  parcel  she  came  on  a  seal  exactly 
like  the  one  of  the  Thanksgiving  dinner-table.  But  she 
knew  very  well  that  Roger  Standish  had  not  sent  it  to  her. 

"Why  !"  said  Dan  Lawrence,  when  the  hubbub  had  sub- 
sided a  little,  "here's  one  more  present  which  I  overlooked. 
It's  addressed  to  Miss  Jean  Stuart,  but  it  doesn't  say  from 
where." 

Because  Dan  knew  the  precise  handwriting,  he  smiled  a 
little  as  he  gave  the  parcel  to  Santa,  who  stood  between  him 
and  Miss  Stuart.  Santa  also  knew  the  handwriting;  but 
he  scowled  as  he  delivered  the  parcel. 

Miss  Stuart  unwrapped  a  beautiful  filagree  brass  vase 
which  she  held  up  for  admiration  before  she  read  the  card 
that  was  tied  around  its  neck.  Then  she  saw  how  Santa 
was  scowling.  The  card  read,  "Compliments  and  heartfelt 
best  wishes  from  Henry  Freyer."  After  reading  it,  she 
looked  again  at  Santa  and  then  she  blushed. 

Meanwhile,  Dan  had  been  called  away  by  a  commotion 
downstairs.  He  came  back  presently  with  a  paper  which 
he  handed  to  Miss  Stuart. 

" Since  you  came,"  he  said,  "we  are  growing  so  important 
that  they  get  out  a  Governor's  guard  to  send  us  cable  mes- 
sages in  the  evening." 

"  Read  it  for  me,  please,"  she  said,  handing  it  back.  "  It's 
in  Turkish." 

"No,  it  isn't,"  said  Dan.  "It's  English,  but  it's  written 
queerly." 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  said  Jean.     "7  can't  read  it." 

"You  help  me,  Thor,"  said  Dan.    The  two  men  puzzled 


THE   TREE  159 

over  it  for  some  moments,  then  Thorley  turned  impatiently 
away. 

"I  can't  read  the  thing,  and  I  don't  want  to,"  he  said, 
with  one  fierce  glare  at  Jean  before  he  crossed  the  room. 

"I  have  it  now,"  cried  Dan,  "but  I  hope  you  won't  like 
it  any  better  than  we  do.  It's  dated  Calcutta,  India,  De- 
cember 23.  'Have  just  heard  your  dilemma.  Am  start- 
ing for  Bushire  and  will  escort  you  home  by  southern  route. 

'  Robert  Courtlandt.' " 

"Good  night,  Mrs.  Lawrence,"  said  Santa  Claus.  "I 
beg  your  pardon  for  my  intrusion." 

When  the  door  had  slammed  behind  a  Saint  whose  fare- 
wells were  more  curt  than  sanctified,  Jean  Stuart  turned  to 
Dan. 

"I  wonder  how  it  will  be  possible  to  make  Mr.  Courtlandt 
understand  by  cable  the  inviolability  of  my  contract  to 
stay  here  until  spring.  I  doubt  if  he  has  ever  signed  a  con- 
tract in  his  life." 

"Then  you  won't  go  !"  cried  Margaret. 

Jean  stooped  to  put  her  arms  around  Ruth.  "Go!" 
she  cried.  "I  wouldn't  go  now,  if  you  offered  me  another 
year's  salary !" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AND   STRIFE   THEREWITH 

CHRISTMAS  DAY  was  by  no  means  a  complete  vacation 
for  the  missionaries.  At  nine  o'clock,  there  was  in  the  city 
church  a  service  conducted  by  Dr.  Lawrence.  At  the  same 
time  Dan  was  preaching  to  the  girls  at  Faith  Seminary, 
the  children  of  the  neighborhood  being  gathered  in  to  fill 
up  the  extra  room.  George  Whiting  and  Mr.  John  Prescott 
held  early  prayer-meetings  for  their  respective  students 
and  then  marshalled  them  into  the  city  to  hear  Dr.  Law- 
rence. As  for  Thorley  Prescott,  he  rose  long  before  day- 
light and,  escaping  his  body-guard,  who  were  spending  the 
night  in  the  guest-house,  made  his  way  back  to  the  moun- 
tain. There  he  closeted  himself  with  such  of  his  men  as 
had  not  gone  away  to  their  families.  What  he  said  to  the 
men  was  not  known  even  by  Roger  Standish,  who  had  been 
sent  up  for  a  few  days  to  help  him.  Prescott  had  curtly 
asked  his  new  assistant  to  stay  away  from  the  meeting ;  and 
the  boy  had  time  to  get  awfully  homesick  before  it  was  over 
and  the  horses  were  brought  around.  As  they  went  to  the 
College,  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  keep  within  sight  of  Thorley 
Prescott,  who  rode  the  Fiend  at  a  pace  even  more  furious 
than  usual.  The  fact  was  that  Thorley  was  cursing  him- 
self all  the  way  because  he  had  promised  his  father  to  be 
present  at  Christmas  dinner. 

Though  they  rode  very  fast,  they  did  not  arrive  in  time 
for  the  short  English  service  with  which  the  missionaries 
regaled  themselves  on  holidays  especially  connected  with 

1 60 


AND   STRIFE   THEREWITH  l6l 

Home.  By  the  time  the  two  men  had  changed  their  clothes 
at  the  Seminary  and  had  thrown  a  few  snowballs  at  Ed- 
ward's snow-man,  the  procession  of  the  devout  filed  out  of 
Dr.  Franklin's  house.  Roger  hailed  it  with  shouts  of 
"Merry  Christmas"  and  challenged  all  who  were  men 
enough  to  join  in  a  snowball  fight.  Thorley  quickly  backed 
up  the  challenge  with  one  or  two  missiles  that  broke  on  the 
ground  near  enough  to  frighten  some  of  the  ladies.  Ed- 
ward, Sam,  and  Danny  immediately  hurled  themselves  and 
their  best  clothes  into  the  fray,  while  their  mothers  besought 
their  fathers  to  make  them  wait  until  after  dinner  when  suit- 
able garments  might  be  found  for  them.  Mrs.  Whiting 
added  in  her  most  querulous  tones  that  if  they  once  got  to 
fighting,  they  would  never  leave  off,  and  dinner  would  be 
spoiled.  The  fight  had  already  reached  a  point  where  it 
could  not  be  stopped  by  mere  words ;  so  the  three  husbands 
bestirred  themselves  not  too  unwillingly,  and  each  capturing 
a  son,  deposited  him  on  the  steps  of  the  Whiting  house  with 
orders  to  "stay  there  now  and  not  get  your  feet  any  wetter." 
This  sortie  having  taken  place  under  a  galling  fire  of  snow- 
balls, the  three  fathers  now  looked  at  each  other  and,  each 
turning  up  his  collar  and  pulling  down  his  hat,  rushed  with 
one  accord  upon  the  enemy,  nor  did  they  rest  until  with 
every  face  freshly  washed  and  every  hair  where  it  ought  not 
to  have  been,  they  returned  in  high  good  humor  to  hunt  for 
clean  collars.  It  would  not  do  to  swear  that  in  the  mean- 
time the  boys  had  refrained  from  gathering  up  what  snow 
could  be  reached  from  the  steps.  Sammy  Whiting  may 
even  have  ventured  out  upon  the  lawn,  and  the  other  two, 
though  without  doubt  they  stayed  where  they  were  told, 
may  not  have  disdained  to  take  away  what  they  could  of 
Sam's  illicitly  gotten  ammunition. 

The  champions  were  much  too  hungry  to  keep  the  dinner 
waiting  long.  Before  Mrs.  Whiting  had  time  to  get  uneasy, 
she  found  it  possible  to  seat  her  guests  in  order  around 


1 62  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

the  festive  board.  As  Mrs.  Prescott  had  helped  her  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  table,  some  of  the  guests  found  them- 
selves where  they  would  rather  not  have  been.  Miss 
Trench,  for  instance,  sat  next  to  Mr.  Freyer,  who  never  had 
anything  to  say  to  her  since  she  had  refused  to  marry  him 
six  months  before.  Thorley  Prescott,  whose  dejection  had 
returned  as  soon  as  the  fight  was  fairly  over,  sat  between 
Miss  Oddfellow  and  Miss  Lea,  with  his  stepmother  where 
she  could  keep  an  eye  on  him  across  the  table,  and  Miss 
Stuart  so  far  away  on  the  same  side  that  he  could  not  even 
catch  a  glimpse  of  her  profile  or  an  echo  of  her  voice.  Miss 
Stuart,  however,  fared  better  than  her  hostess  intended. 
She  had  been  carefully  segregated  from  all  the  unmarried 
men ;  but,  as  she  had  been  placed  between  the  two  doctors, 
both  of  whom  she  liked  immensely,  it  did  not  occur  to  her 
to  be  discontented.  She  found  it  easy  enough  to  evade 
Mr.  Freyer's  efforts  at  gaining  her  attention  by  craning  his 
rheumatic  neck  around  the  enormous  mound  of  fruit  in  the 
middle  of  the  table.  It  was  the  first  time  since  his  illness 
that  Mr.  Freyer  had  left  the  Franklin's  house,  and  the  din- 
ner had  been  appointed  at  the  College  so  that  he  might 
safely  be  present.  It  was  evident  very  soon  to  Miss  Trench 
and  Margaret  Lawrence  that  he  intended  not  to  waste  any 
opportunities  the  holiday  might  offer.  But  Miss  Stuart 
continued  blandly  oblivious  of  him,  until  she  happened  to 
surprise  Mrs.  Whiting  and  Mrs.  Prescott  both  looking  at 
her  and  then  exchanging  a  glance  of  congratulation.  Jean 
instantly  pricked  her  faculties  to  discover  a  reason  for 
this. 

"What  can  I  be  doing,"  she  murmured  to  Dr.  MacColl, 
"that  actually  gratifies  the  Medusa?  Help  me  to  find  out 
what  it  is,  and  I'll  stop  at  once." 

"Nonsense,"  said  the  doctor,  shortly. 

"I  know  it  sounds  that  way,"  said  Jean,  with  a  meekness 
of  tone,  which  her  face  belied;  "she  never  has  been  pleased 


AND   STRIFE   THEREWITH  163 

with  me  before,  not  for  one  single  moment.  I'm  going  to 
ask  her." 

She  leaned  forward  with  eyes  and  lips  brimful  of  mischief. 
Dr.  MacColl  laid  a  peremptory  hand  on  her  arm ;  and  Miss 
Stuart,  checked  also  by  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Prescott  was  now 
talking  to  her  host,  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Mr. 
Freyer,  and  obliged  to  answer  a  stream  of  questions  from 
him.  Promptly  enough  this  brought  back  to  her  the  atten- 
tion of  Mrs.  Prescott.  Thorley  also  took  advantage  of  her 
leaning  forward  to  get  a  good  look  at  her.  And  Roger 
Standish  broke  off  his  sober  talk  with  Miss  Lea  to  laugh  at 
the  mild  jest  with  which  Miss  Stuart  answered  an  elaborate 
compliment  from  Mr.  Freyer.  One  Jovian  frown  from  over 
the  crooked  glasses  of  the  Medusa  swept  her  and  the  three 
men  with  a  petrifying  glare  and  explained  everything.  Jean 
neatly  turned  over  to  Mrs.  Lawrence  the  answering  of  Mr. 
Freyer's  last  question  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  a 
silent  chuckle. 

"Dear  me,  dear  me,"  she  murmured  gleefully;  "is  that 
all  I  have  to  do  !  I  had  no  idea  she  would  take  notice  of 
anything  so  far  removed  from  her  sphere.  I  think  I  must 
manage  to  inch  a  little  nearer." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Freyer's  face  peered  at  her  again 
from  around  the  fruit.  "Oh,  Mr.  Freyer,"  she  cried  in  a 
voice  pitched  for  Mrs.  Prescott's  ear,  "don't  let  me  forget 
that  there  is  something  I  must  say  to  you  after  dinner." 

"Is  it  something  that  can't  be  told  now?"  said  Mr. 
Freyer  with  a  fatuous  smile. 

"I  am  sure,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Prescott,  "that  anything  of 
real  interest  to  Mr.  Freyer  will  be  of  interest  to  us  all." 

"Oh,  it's  nothing  to  tell,"  said  Jean,  "just  something  to 
say,  and  I  couldn't  think  of  causing  Mr.  Freyer  to  sit  in 
that  strained  position  any  longer  after  all  that  he  has  suf- 
fered. Au  revoir." 

She  came  very  near  kissing  her  hand  to  the  obedient  little 


164  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

gentleman  as  his  beaming  countenance  disappeared  behind 
the  fruit ;  but  she  turned  the  gesture  just  in  time  to  a  grace- 
ful wave  of  the  hand. 

"Here,  here,"  said  Dr.  Franklin.  "I  can't  let  you  have 
any  secrets  with  my  patients.  Don't  you  know  that  noth- 
ing is  so  bad  for  the  health  as  a  craving  for  the 
unattainable  ?  " 

"  On  the  other  hand  is  anything  a  better  tonic  than 
anticipation?" 

"The  question  is,  though,"  said  the  doctor,  rather  gravely, 
"what  comes  after  he's  taken  the  trouble  to  anticipate?" 

"  My  prettiest  '  Thank  you, ' "  said  Jean.  "  He  sent  me  a 
beautiful  Christmas  present." 

"Ah,  so  !    I  wondered  where  you  got  that  seal." 

Jean  was  wearing  the  Sassanian  seal  on  a  platinum  and 
pearl  chain  which  she  had  passed  through  the  hole  in  the 
wedge-shaped  upper  end  of  the  stone.  She  dangled  it 
toward  the  doctor  as  he  finished  speaking. 

"Don't  you  remember  this?"  she  said.  "Mr.  Freyer 
didn't  give  it  to  me." 

"Ha,  ha,"  the  doctor  burst  out  after  a  short  scrutiny, 
"to  the  victor  belong  the  spoils.  Good  for  you,  Standish. 
We  all  owe  you  a  vote  of  thanks." 

"What  for?"  asked  Roger,  returning  not  too  unwillingly 
from  a  discussion  of  Pragmatism,  in  which  he  was  floundering 
beyond  his  depth. 

"Why,  for  giving  this  seal  to  the  person  who  deserves  it. 
I  wish  I  could  have  given  it  to  her  myself." 

Miss  Lea  smiled  patiently  as  Standish  craned  his  neck  to 
look  at  the  seal.  "But  I  didn't  give  it  to  her,"  he  cried. 
"I  traded  it  off  to  Prescott  for  a  perfectly  dandy  horse," 
and  he  turned  back  hastily  to  see  what  Amy  thought  of  his 
being  accused  of  giving  things  to  other  girls  when  she  had 
refused  so  far  to  let  him  give  her  anything  more  than  a 
book. 


AND   STRIFE   THEREWITH  165 

"Young  man,  you  shall  pay  for  that,"  thought  Jean 
Stuart ;  but  she  gave  herself  up  for  the  rest  of  the  meal  to 
an  educational  discussion  that  would  have  made  a  high  place 
for  her  in  an  American  Woman's  Club. 

Time  would  fail  us  to  tell  of  all  Jean  Stuart  did  afte* 
dinner,  how  she  brought  Mr.  Freyer  to  the  gates  of  Heaven 
and  kept  him  from  going  any  farther.  How  she  detached 
Roger  Standish  from  his  pragmatic  discussion  and  estab- 
lished him  in  frivolous  contentment  at  her  other  side.  How 
she  led  the  applause  for  the  children's  pieces  and  incited 
the  grown  people  to  bring  out  long-forgotten  stunts.  How 
she  intoxicated  more  than  one  sober-minded  person  to  the 
point  where  he  was  proud  to  let  himself  be  as  funny  as  he 
had  been  in  his  college  days.  How  she  let  Thorley  Prescott 
sit  glowering  over  against  her  until  she  thought  he  had 
glowered  enough,  when  she  sent  Edward  Franklin  to  tell 
him  she  would  like  to  speak  to  him.  How  he  intended  to 
say  he  would  not  come,  but  caught  her  eye  and  came  as  fast 
as  he  could.  How  she  scolded  him  for  going  away  the 
previous  evening  before  she  had  thanked  him  for  his  gift. 
How  Thorley's  answer  was  very  little  more  than  a  growl. 
How  Jean  had  the  face  to  ask  him  what  made  him  so  cross 
on  Christmas  Day,  and  he  had  the  face  to  say  that  he  could 
not  be  jolly,  because  she  was  going  away,  and  she  asked  him 
very  saucily  how  he  knew  that  when  she  didn't,  and  he  an- 
swered that  he  supposed  she  would  jump  at  the  chance  of 
being  rescued  by  that  Courtlandt  fellow.  Then  Jean 
laughed  in  his  face  and  said  he  didn't  deserve  to  be  told 
anything,  but  that  if  he  would  urge  Mr.  Standish  to  sing,  he 
might  go  and  ask  Dan  Lawrence  what  she  had  said  over 
the  cable  about  the  inviolability  of  a  contract.  "And  very 
expensive  it  is,  I  can  tell  you,  to  explain  one's  principles 
by  cable."  The  result  was  that  Thorley  did  urge  Stand- 
ish to  sing,  that  he  in  fact  escorted  him  forcibly  to  the 
piano,  and  returning,  captured  Roger's  seat  by  Miss  Stuart, 


1 66  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

whose  side  he  never  left  for  a  moment  all  the  rest  of  the 
evening. 

Finally  Miss  Stuart's  pupils  came  in  a  body  to  ask  for 
a  song  from  her.  "Sing  to  the  grown  people,"  they  begged, 
"as  you  do  for  us.  We  know  they  would  like  it." 

"I  know  it,  too,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Franklin ;  "you  see  I  often 
listen  outside  the  door." 

Then  all  the  little  hands  laid  hold  of  Jean  and  pulled  her 
to  the  piano ;  and  she  went  laughing  and  sang  a  song  or  two 
that  the  children  loved.  And  then  Thorley,  who  was  not 
far  off,  asked  if  she  knew  Schubert's  "  Widmung"  and  she 
said  Yes,  but  it  was  impossible  to  play  that  accompaniment 
and  sing  into  the  wall. 

"Stand  up  and  sing  it,  then,"  he  answered,  and  she  stood 
up  and  sang  it,  and  he  played  for  her ;  and  while  the  others 
held  their  breath  at  her  singing,  she  marvelled  no  less  at 
Thorley's  playing.  \ 

After  Jean  Stuart  had  sung  "Widmung"  she  found  her- 
self in  a  different  mood.  When  Roger  Standish  would  have 
fallen  at  her  feet,  she  sent  him  straight  back  to  Miss  Lea. 
She  talked  very  sweetly  to  Mr.  Freyer  about  Mary's  talent 
for  music,  saying  that  she  would  like  to  take  the  child  back  to 
America  and  give  her  a  thorough  musical  education.  When 
Mr.  Freyer  hinted  that  there  were  those  who  thought  the 
gifts  of  Miss  Stuart  more  needed  in  Persia  than  in  America, 
she  laughingly  but  decidedly  told  him  that  nothing  would 
induce  her  to  stay  in  Persia  longer  than  was  required  by 
her  contract  to  teach.  She  turned  him  over  then  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  Mrs.  Prescott,  who  was  ready  enough  to 
keep  him  plied  with  questions  and  advice. 

Jean  then  joined  a  game  of  crokinole  to  which  she  was 
invited  by  Edward,  and  she  played  so  very  badly  under  the 
fixed  regard  of  Thorley  Prescott  that  she  was  glad  when 
Dr.  MacColl  came  and  said  it  was  time  for  rounds  at  the 
Hospital ;  did  Jean  care  to  go  now,  or  would  she  follow  later  ? 


AND   STRIFE   THEREWITH  167 

The  game  having  just  ended,  Jean  said  she  would  go.  The 
children  protested  and  Thorley  offered  his  escort  later,  if  she 
would  stay ;  but  Jean  was  firm. 

"Then  let  me  go  with  you  now,"  begged  Thorley,  and 
the  doctor,  very  much  amazed,  said  they  would  be  delighted 
to  have  him. 

The  three  walked  in  silence  across  the  Compound  until 
they  reached  the  doctor's  door.  Then  Thorley  said  "  Good- 
night," and  the  doctor  said,  "Won't  you  come  in?"  And 
Thorley,  knowing  that  when  the  doctor  had  gone  on  her 
rounds,  he  would  be  alone  with  Jean,  refused. 

Miss  Stuart  held  out  her  hand  to  him  as  she  stood  on 
the  step  above  him ;  and  after  a  perceptible  pause,  he  took 
it.  "We  must  sing  together  often,"  she  said;  "you  play 
for  me  gloriously." 

"Never  again,"  he  answered  fervently.     "Good-by." 


CHAPTER  XXin 

MISS  ODDFELLOW'S  INSPIRATION 

IT  was  on  Christmas  evening  that  Miss  Oddfellow  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  pressing  Jean  Stuart  into  service.  Miss 
Oddfellow's  vocation  was  Faith  Seminary,  where  she  had 
the  entire  responsibility  of  one  hundred  girls  and  five  na- 
tive teachers,  to  say  nothing  of  a  young  American  colleague 
whose  impulses  led  her  as  often  as  not  into  mischief. 

One  might  think  that  Miss  Oddfellow  would  have  had 
little  or  no  time  for  diversion.  Yet  the  dear  lady  had  a  pet 
recreation  in  which  she  managed  to  indulge  herself  once  or 
twice  a  week  at  least.  This  indulgence  was  the  visiting  of 
Moslem  women  in  their  homes ;  and  Miss  Oddfellow  carried 
her  love  for  it  to  such  an  extreme  that  her  colleagues  de- 
clared she  would  rather  go  calling  than  read  her  letters  from 
home !  The  gratification  of  this  taste  was  not  always  con- 
venient for  the  female  friends  of  Miss  Oddfellow;  as  it 
meant  that  one  of  them  had  to  mount  guard  at  the  Seminary 
in  her  absence  and  that  another  had  to  go  with  her.  It 
is  not  possible  for  a  housekeeper  to  leave  her  home 
and  children  to  the  mercy  of  native  servants.  Yet  Miss 
Oddfellow  very  much  preferred  that  her  companion  be  a 
married  lady,  because  a  pair  of  spinsters,  though  welcomed 
for  once  as  a  curiosity  by  their  Persian  hostesses,  did  not 
command  the  honor  which  Miss  Oddfellow  thought  essential 
to  the  progress  of  her  plans.  Evidently  it  was  no  selfish 
dream  of  social  prestige  that  drove  her  forth  on  these  ex- 
peditions ;  for,  in  whatever  household  she  appeared  with 

168 


MISS  ODDFELLOW'S  INSPIRATION  169 

married  ladies,  she  was  never  given  any  seat  but  the  lowest, 
and  the  women  would  at  first  listen  to  any  of  the  others 
rather  than  to  her.  There  had  been  times  when  Miss 
Oddfellow,  communing  with  her  own  heart,  had  wished  that 
it  were  possible  to  be  a  married  lady  without  the  embarrass- 
ment of  maintaining  a  husband. 

But  these  regrets  had  once  for  all  been  cast  aside,  when 
she  discovered  that  even  an  old  maid  could  master  the  art 
of  rousing  and  strengthening  a  new  interest  in  the  mind  of 
a  Moslem  woman.  Childishness,  ennui,  curiosity,  dis- 
content, and  suffering,  all  these  were  strings  on  which  Miss 
Oddfellow,  after  years  of  practice,  had  learned  to  play. 
And  now  she  strove  to  produce,  not  the  discord  of  an  igno- 
rant striving  for  an  unattainable  freedom,  but  the  simple 
melody  that  comes  when  a  human  heart  is  tuned  to  love 
and  forgiveness  and  the  joy  of  helping  others. 

Miss  Oddfellow  had  acquired  such  insight  into  the  minds 
of  her  Moslem  friends  that  she  knew  at  once  whether  any- 
thing she  saw  or  heard  would  please  them.  She  had  been 
wondering  ever  since  Jean  Stuart's  arrival  how  she  could 
turn  to  account  that  young  person's  evident  attractions, 
but  until  she  heard  Jean  sing  she  had  been  a  little  afraid 
that  the  Khanum  of  the  Rising  Sun  might  cause  the  atten- 
tion of  almost  any  anderoon  to  wander  from  the  ideas  it  was 
most  desirable  to  introduce.  And  yet  it  worried  Miss  Odd- 
fellow greatly  that  she  could  not  immediately  extract  for 
her  Moslem  women  a  spiritual  value  from  Jean  Stuart's 
presence  in  Muramna.  It  made  her  feel  that  she  must  be 
growing  old,  and  she  lay  awake  more  than  once  to  wonder 
how  soon  it  would  be  due  to  the  Board  that  she  should  re- 
sign and  go  Home.  Perhaps  a  tear  or  two  sank  into  her 
pillow  as  she  reflected  that  Home  now  stood  for  nothing 
more  intimate  than  the  Missionaries'  Rest  Room  at  the 
Board  Rooms  and  the  half-open  door  of  her  only  relative, 
a  grandniece.  It  would  have  been  pleasant,  she  thought, 


170  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

if  she  could  have  saved  up  one  or  two  hundred  dollars  to 
assure  her  reception  into  an  Old  Ladies'  Home ;  but  she 
had  never  been  one  to  save,  and  two  hundred  dollars  was 
not  a  sum  which  one  could  expect  to  have  fall  from  the 
skies. 

"After  all,  it  may  be  that  the  Lord  will  be  so  gracious  as 
to  let  me  die  in  the  harness.  At  any  rate,  I  must  not  shame 
His  tender  mercy  by  anxious  thought  for  the  morrow." 

An  arrow  of  trust  sent  upward  through  the  dark,  brought 
down  a  wonderful  plan  for  the  telling  of  a  certain  story  in 
words  that  would  bring  it  home  to  the  heart  of  no  less  a  per- 
son than  the  Governor's  favorite  wife. 

"And  if  I  can  have  such  ideas,"  was  the  afterthought, 
"perhaps  I  am  still  fit  for  a  few  years  of  service." 

Then  she  chid  herself  that  there  should  be  any  thought 
of  her  own  advantage  mingled  with  holier  desires,  and 
she  put  herself  to  sleep  at  last  by  murmuring  the  dear  old 
hymn  that  ends  :  — 

"Teach  us  in  every  state 

To  make  Thy  will  our  own ; 
And  when  the  joys  of  sense  depart, 
To  live  by  faith  alone." 

And  the  very  next  day  she  heard  Jean  Stuart  sing.  Now 
when  the  singing  began,  it  was  Miss  Oddfellow's  impulse 
to  rush  headlong  upon  the  Khanum  of  the  Rising  Sun  and 
demand  her  aid  for  an  anderoon  expedition  the  next  day. 
But  in  her  impulsive  nature,  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent  had 
long  since  been  added  to  her  other  virtues  and  stood  her  in 
very  good  stead,  except  on  occasions  when  she  had  no  time 
to  think  or  when  she  deliberately  put  the  maintenance  of 
principle  before  the  attainment  of  her  immediate  ends. 

Therefore,  by  the  time  the  singing  ended,  she  thought  it 
better  to  approach  Mrs.  Lawrence,  and  her  she  begged  most 
earnestly  to  intercede  with  Miss  Stuart. 


MISS  ODDFELLOW'S  INSPIRATION  171 

"But  Miss  Oddfellow,  she  doesn't  know  Turkish,"  cried 
Margaret,  "and  I'm  not  perfectly  sure  that  she  would  care 
to  put  herself  in  the  position  of  singing  Christian  hymns 
when  she  professes  not  to  have  any  religion." 

"And  very  unsuitable  it  would  be,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Prescott,  "to  ask  her  to  do  such  a  thing." 

"I  did  not  seek  your  opinion,  Melissa,"  said  Miss  Odd- 
fellow gently,  "and  my  mind  is  quite  made  up.  We  get 
the  women  themselves  to  help  us  before  they  know  what 
they  are  doing.  They  repeat  Bible  verses  of  which  they 
have  not  the  slightest  comprehension.  I  mean  to  get  Miss 
Stuart  to  sing  the  English  words  of  some  good  hymn,  and  I 
will  interpret  them." 

"I  doubt  if  she  will  have  the  decency  to  consent,"  said 
Mrs.  Prescott.  "At  all  events,  your  course  does  not  meet 
with  my  approval ;  and  I  refuse  to  countenance  you  in  any 
way." 

"It  will  not  be  the  first  time  I  have  worked  without  your 
countenance,  Melissa,"  Miss  Oddfellow's  voice  was  still 
gentle ;  her  glance  was  still  kindly  as  she  turned  decidedly 
away. 

The  next  person  approached  was  Miss  Trench.  That 
lady  approved  the  plan,  if  it  could  be  carried  out,  but  did  not 
consider  herself  the  one  to  broach  it. 

"  Get  Dr.  MacColl  to  ask  her,  if  you  won't  do  it  yourself," 
she  suggested.  "The  doctor  will  put  it  in  such  a  way  that 
Miss  Stuart  will  see  in  it  an  opportunity  to  go  sight-seeing. 
I  am  told  that  she  is  always  eager  for  adventure." 

"Indeed,  I  will  not  have  her  invited  in  any  such  manner," 
declared  Miss  Oddfellow.  "On  the  whole,  I  believe  it  is 
best  that  I  do  it  myself,  and  I  will  make  haste  to  address  her 
now  before  my  courage  gives  out." 

Upon  which  she  looked  around  for  Miss  Stuart,  who  was 
discovered  just  going  away  with  Dr.  MacColl  and  Thorley 
Prescott.  At  the  same  time  Dan  Lawrence  came  to  tell 


172  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

her  that  if  she  wished  to  return  that  evening  to  the  Seminary, 
they  must  start  at  once,  so,  very  reluctantly,  she  went  in 
search  of  her  circular  and  her  rubber  overshoes. 

The  next  morning  she  woke  with  an  eagerness  that  took 
her  to  the  Lawrences'  before  they  had  finished  breakfast. 
She  had  forgotten  that  Miss  Stuart  would  still  be  out  at 
the  College.  Seeing  her  crestfallen  look,  Margaret  sug- 
gested calling  Jean  to  the  telephone  (for  a  private  wire, 
the  only  one  at  that  time  in  Persia,  ran  between  the  Law- 
rences' house  and  the  Franklins').  Miss  Oddfellow's 
consternation  at  this  proposal  was  so  extreme  that  Dan 
Lawrence  came  to  her  rescue  by  offering  to  take  her  message 
straight  to  Miss  Stuart.  He  was  going  to  the  villages  for 
a  day's  visiting  and  could  stop  at  the  College  just  as  well 
as  not.  So  Miss  Oddfellow  went  into  minute  explanations, 
and  they  all  agreed  with  her  that  it  would  have  been  very 
difficult  to  say  all  she  wanted  over  the  telephone.  Dan  was 
to  say  it  for  her  as  well  as  he  could ;  and  Jean  was  either  to 
telephone  her  denial  to  Mrs.  Lawrence,  or  to  ride  back  to 
the  city  herself  in  token  of  her  assent.  For  Miss  Oddfellow 
longed,  if  possible,  to  make  her  first  calls  with  the  Khanum 
of  the  Rising  Sun  that  very  afternoon. 

On  his  way  to  the  College,  Dan  Lawrence  smiled  more 
than  once  under  his  long  mustache.  His  mission  to  Jean 
Stuart  aroused  his  humor  as  well  as  his  hope,  and  he  intended 
to  make  a  success  of  it  if  he  could.  He  had  taken  along 
Jean's  hostler  in  order  that  she  might  have  an  escort  to  the 
city,  and  this  he  told  her  when  he  had  set  forth  very  briefly 
Miss  Oddfellow's  request. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  banked  on  my  doing  as  she 
asks  ?  "  Jean's  eyes  twinkled  as  she  put  the  question. 

His  own  eyes  twinkled  in  reply,  "Some  one  told  me  the 
other  day,"  he  said,  "that  she  wished  Miss  Oddfellow  was 
her  great-grandaunt  so  that  she  could  make  her  a  real  lace 
cap  with  pink  ribbons,  and  feel  whether  her  cheek  is  as  soft 


MISS  ODDFELLOW'S  INSPIRATION  173 

as  it  looks.  When  I  want  anything  from  you  myself,"  he 
added,  "I  shall  ask  my  Father  to  speak  for  it  —  or  Danny." 

Jean's  laughter  rippled  merrily  out.  "Tell  Tomas  to 
see  that  Lord  Chesterton  is  saddled.  I'll  be  ready  in  fifteen 
minutes." 

Dan  Lawrence  beamed  at  her  as  he  turned  to  go.  "/ 
won't  presume  to  thank  you,"  he  said. 

"No  ?  "  answered  Jean.  "I'd  like  to  see  you  ask  or  thank 
me  more  eloquently,  if  the  favor  were  for  yourself." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MAKING  MELODY 

IT  was  barely  two  o'clock  when  Miss  Oddfellow,  Miss 
Stuart,  and  Mrs.  Lawrence,  with  two  men-servants,  set  out 
on  foot  from  the  gate  of  the  Compound.  All  the  ladies 
wore  thick  veils  and  loose  cloaks,  as  well  as  rubbers  which 
they  could  take  of!  at  the  door  of  the  anderoon  so  that  they 
might  not  seem  to  enter  the  house  in  their  out-door  shoes. 

Jean  Stuart  had  been  persuaded  to  unearth  a  white  gown 
from  the  bottom  of  a  trunk.  "Because,  my  dear,"  Miss 
Oddfellow  had  said,  "the  Persians  are  not  interested  in 
black.  And  couldn't  you  wear  a  bow  or  two  of  some  bright 
color?  I  don't  want  to  ask  too  much;  but  these  little 
things  make  such  a  difference  to  ladies  who  seldom  see  any- 
thing of  the  outer  world." 

"But  you  know,  Miss  Oddfellow,"  said  Margaret  Law- 
rence, hastily,  "  Miss  Stuart  is  not  wearing  colors,  and  — 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  Miss  Oddfellow  kindly,  "but 
these  Mohammedan  ladies  do  not  know  Miss  Stuart;  her 
wearing  a  color  would  convey  no  disrespect  to  the  memory 
of  her  dear  one;  and  if  she  could  bring  herself  to  put  on 
some  bright  thing  such  as  she  was  accustomed  to  deck  her- 
self with  for  the  eyes  of  - 

Jean  Stuart  abruptly  left  the  room ;  and  Margaret  Law- 
rence gazed  in  consternation  at  Miss  Oddfellow.  But  that 
lady  devoted  herself  to  narrowing  the  sock  she  was  knitting 
as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  to  be  interrupted  in  the 
middle  of  a  sentence. 

When  Jean  Stuart  came  back  presently,  dressed  all  in 

174 


MAKING   MELODY  175 

white,  she  wore  a  necklace  of  gold,  curiously  wrought ;  and 
depending  from  it  were  many  jewels  of  colors  that  glowed 
and  sparkled  in  the  light. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  cried  Miss  Oddfellow,  jumping  to  her 
feet  and  holding  up  both  hands  while  her  ball  of  yarn  rolled 
briskly  across  the  floor. 

"Why,  my  dear,"  she  cried,  "I  never  saw  anything  so 
splendid  —  It's  as  beautiful  as  —  as  —  as  beautiful  almost 
as  you  are  ! " 

Jean  Stuart  laughed  very  softly  as  she  went  toward  the 
little  old  lady.  Her  eyes  were  unusually  bright,  and  she 
held  something  in  each  of  her  hands. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "I've  done  something  to  please  you; 
and  I  shall  expect  an  immediate  reward.  Please  try  on  this 
cap  and  this  bonnet  which  I  made  to  give  you  at  Christmas, 
and  then  I  hadn't  the  courage  !" 

Miss  Oddfellow's  soft  cheek  flushed  a  deeper  pink,  and 
her  fingers  trembled  as  she  took  off  the  bonnet  that  had 
outlived  the  memory  of  an  entire  missionary  generation. 
Under  it  was  the  cap  of  black  thread  lace  which  she  had  in- 
herited from  her  mother. 

"Here,  let  me  help,"  cried  Jean,  removing  the  cap  with 
deft  fingers  and  putting  in  its  place  the  daintiest  little  con- 
coction of  real  rosepoint,  trimmed  with  one  or  two  knots 
of  pale  pink  ribbon.  As  if  by  accident,  she  fluffed  out  the 
thin  grey  hair  underneath  the  cap  and  then  crowned  the 
whole  with  a  black  velvet  bonnet  made  from  one  of  her  own 
hats. 

"Hoy a  brukhta,"  l  cried  Margaret  Lawrence,  clapping  her 
hands.  "Why  didn't  you  show  them  to  me?"  she  de- 
manded. "I  would  have  screwed  your  courage  to  the  stick- 
ing-point  long  before  this  !" 

"But,  my  dear,"  fluttered  Miss  Oddfellow,  "they  are 
very  handsome,  and  I  thank  you  heartily."  She  stood  on 

1  May  it  be  blessed. 


176  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

tiptoe  to  salute  Jean's  cheek.  "But  really  —  really  — " 
She  turned  back  for  another  look  into  the  mirror  —  "what 
will  become  of  me  and  my  old  circular  underneath  all  this  ?" 

"You  will  be  just  where  you  ought  to  be,"  cried  Jean, 
"and  as  for  your  circular—  "  she  darted  out  of  the  room 
again,  returning  almost  instantly  with  a  handsome  silk 
cloak  that  reached  her  own  knees.  This  she  threw  around 
Miss  Oddfellow,  who  was  so  tiny  that  the  cloak  reached 
her  ankles.  Yet  it  fitted  her  very  well  around  the  shoulders 
and  the  neck. 

"Now  you  look  like  a  Duchess,"  cried  Miss  Stuart. 
"You  will  wear  them,  won't  you?" 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  wailed  Miss  Oddfellow  with  the  utmost 
consternation,  "I  couldn't  wear  these  to  the  Khanum's. 
Why,  I  shouldn't  know  what  I  was  saying.  If  I  could  have 
seen  them  for  a  week  or  two  before  I  put  them  on,  they 
might  have  —  But  no,  my  dear,  I  cannot  think  that  any- 
thing so  handsome  is  suitable  for  me."  Miss  Oddfellow 
smoothed  the  silk  respectfully  as  she  laid  the  cloak  on  a 
chair,  having  noticed  with  awe  that  its  lining  was  brocaded 
satin,  faintly  tinged  with  rose. 

"If  she  does  insist  on  my  accepting  it,"  thought  this  in- 
corrigible giver,  "that  lining  will  make  a  handsome  basque 
for  one  of  the  younger  ladies." 

She  took  off  the  velvet  bonnet  then  and  hung  it  carefully 
on  a  chair ;  but  the  little  white  cap  she  could  not  bring  her- 
self to  relinquish ;  and  when  she  found  that  the  old  bonnet 
would  crush  the  new  cap  she  consented  to  be  recrowned. 

"After  all,  though  very  rich,  it  is  not  at  all  ostentatious," 
she  announced,  "and  since  it  is  on  my  head  where  I  cannot 
see  it,  I  shall  not  need  to  think  of  it  while  I  am  talking. 
Besides  Fatima  Khanum  told  me  only  the  last  time  I  visited 
her  that  she  wished  I  would  sometimes  appear  in  more 
novel  garments,  and  she  is  to  be  present  to-day  at  Shukepha 
Khanum's  home."  So  saying,  with  a  final  glance  toward 


MAKING   MELODY  177 

the  mirror,  the  good  lady  donned  her  circular  and  over- 
shoes and  led  the  way  to  the  door. 

Arrived  at  the  house  of  Hassan  Mirza  Khan  the  three 
ladies  knocked  at  the  outer  door  of  the  anderoon,  which  was 
presently  opened  by  a  eunuch.  Having  received  word  in 
the  morning  that  the  foreigners  would  visit  them,  the  Per- 
sian ladies  had  ordered  them  to  be  admitted  at  once  to  the 
largest  room  in  the  anderoon,  where  the  wives  of  the  prince, 
their  grown  daughters,  their  favorite  slaves,  and  one  or 
two  of  their  neighbors  were  gathered  in  state  to  receive  the 
Inglesi.  The  Americans  waited  only  to  remove  their 
rubbers  before  they  followed  the  eunuch  through  the  intricate 
passage  that  led  to  the  heart  of  the  anderoon. 

Jean  Stuart,  entering  the  receiving-room  behind  Miss 
Oddfellow,  who  in  her  role  of  "girl  "  followed  Mrs.  Law- 
rence, never  forgot  her  first  impression  of  the  persons  as- 
sembled there.  A  farmer's  daughter  whose  social  life  had 
been  bounded  entirely  by  church  activities,  could  hardly 
have  been  more  taken  aback  by  the  shock  of  seeing  her  first 
ballet.  The  indoor  dress  of  a  high-born  Persian  lady  con- 
sists of  a  number  of  stiff  skirts  reaching  barely  to  the  knees. 
Gay  stockings  meet  or  fail  to  meet  the  petticoats,  except  when 
trousers  extending  to  the  feet  are  worn  underneath.  The 
upper  part  of  the  body  does  not  even  pretend  to  be  covered 
by  a  scanty  zouave  jacket,  heavily  embroidered,  which  is 
worn  over  a  thin  chemise.  (The  higher  the  rank  of  the 
lady,  the  more  diaphanous  is  her  chemise.)  The  hair  is 
stained  red  with  henna  and  braided  in  countless  little  braids ; 
the  eyebrows  are  blackened  and  extended,  if  necessary,  to 
meet  across  the  brows.  The  cheeks  are  painted,  and  every 
attempt  is  made  by  artificial  means  to  brighten  the  large 
black  eyes  which  centuries  of  seclusion  and  ignorance  have 
left  so  dull  —  so  very,  very  dull. 

But  now,  at  sight  of  the  strange  foreigner  the  dull  eyes 
of  the  Persians  were  brightened  by  their  favorite  cosmetic 


178  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

—  curiosity.  Jean  Stuart  seemed  more  akin  to  them  than 
the  other  Inglesi  because  she,  too,  had  evidently  dyed  her 
hair  with  henna.  The  hair  was,  to  be  sure,  somewhat  curly ; 
but  that  defect  could  be  removed  by  means  of  bear's  grease. 
When  they  found  that  the  Khanum  could  not  understand 
them,  they  begged  Miss  Oddfellow  to  explain  that  if  the 
stranger  had  no  means  of  getting  bear's  grease,  they  would 
gladly  make  her  a  present,  also  blackening  for  her  eyebrows, 
which  would  make  a  great  difference  in  her  beauty  if  they 
met  across  her  nose.  They  inquired  of  Miss  Oddfellow, 
first  of  all,  the  name  of  Miss  Stuart's  husband  (for  surely 
so  well-ornamented  and  so  good-looking  a  lady,  though  la- 
mentably thin,  must  be  able  to  get  a  husband).  When  told 
that  Miss  Stuart  was  single,  they  could  have  wept  for  pity, 
but  they  restrained  themselves  because  they  were  eager 
to  ask  her  age.  This  Miss  Oddfellow  said  she  did  not  know, 
and  was  promptly  implored  to  ask  the  Khanum  herself. 
She  explained  that  among  the  Inglesi  it  was  not  customary 
to  ask  a  lady's  age;  so  they  fell  to  figuring  it  out  among 
themselves.  A  number  of  them,  meanwhile,  hovered  over 
Jean,  all  but  fingering  her  clothes  and  asking  the  price  of 
everything  they  saw.  Several  of  them  had  laid  hold  of  her 
cloak  which  she  had  taken  off,  and  it  never  afterwards  dis- 
played its  full  complement  of  jet  beads ! 

Soon  tea  was  brought  in  little  glasses,  and  sweetmeats 
of  many  kinds  were  handed  around.  Several  wide-eyed 
houris  stood  over  Jean  to  see  for  themselves  that  she  par- 
took of  everything.  Then  water-pipes  as  well  as  cigarettes 
were  passed,  and  great  disappointment  was  expressed  when 
Jean  declared  through  Miss  Oddfellow  that  she  never 
smoked.  "She  uses  henna,"  they  said,  "and  yet  she  does 
not  smoke."  Miss  Oddfellow  explained  that  the  Khanum's 
hair  was  by  nature  the  color  which  they  saw,  and  that  in 
America  ladies  did  not  smoke,  which  latter  statement  might 
have  made  Jean  smile,  if  she  had  understood  it.  And  now 


MAKING   MELODY  179 

Miss  Oddfellow  announced  that  she  had  brought  the  pic- 
tures of  which  they  had  heard  from  Fatima  Khanum,  and 
that  if  they  pleased,  she  was  ready  to  show  them.  They 
all  crowded  around  her  as  she  drew  out  a  roll  of  cheap  colored 
prints  such  as  infant  class  teachers  use  to  illustrate  the  Sun- 
day School  lesson.  The  pictures  were  all  of  the  Life  of 
Christ,  and  Miss  Oddfellow  told  stories  about  them  for  half 
an  hour,  Margaret  Lawrence  answering  what  questions  she 
could,  for  the  women  who  sat  near  her.  The  questions  of 
the  women  showed  the  utmost  ignorance  —  not  only  of 
Christianity,  but  of  common  morality  and  of  the  principles 
and  history  of  their  own  religion.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  any  of  them  could  ever  be  roused  to  anything  outside 
of  their  purely  animal  existence.  Jean  watched  the  stupid 
faces  searchingly ;  and  she  did  not  see  a  ray  of  promise  in 
any  one  of  them.  The  Moslem  doctrine  that  women  have 
no  souls,  had  evidently  worked  through  all  these  centuries 
as  a  suggestion.  Yet  they  listened  and  looked  at  the  pictures 
as  long  as  Miss  Oddfellow  would  show  them ;  and  when 
she  put  away  the  roll,  they  all  protested.  But  she  said  she 
had  asked  the  strange  Khanum  to  sing  them  a  hymn  about 
the  birth  of  Christ.  Christians  liked  to  sing  such  hymns 
at  their  feast  of  Christmas,  which  they  had  celebrated  yes- 
terday. So  Jean  Stuart  sang  "  While  Shepherds  Watched 
Their  Flocks  by  Night"  ;  and  then  Miss  Oddfellow  explained 
the  words. 

After  this,  the  chief  Khanum  begged  for  something  amus- 
ing ;  and  Miss  Oddfellow  hopelessly  told  Jean  what  she  had 
said.  Whereupon  Jean  asked  for  a  guitar  which  she  saw 
hanging  upon  the  wall,  and,  striking  an  attitude,  gave  them 
"Funiculi  Funicula."  And  they  laughed  until  the  tears 
made  furrows  down  their  fat  cheeks. 

Then  tea  was  brought  in  again,  and  afterwards  Miss 
Oddfellow  said  she  and  her  friends  must  be  going ;  but  they 
would  like  a  visit  in  return  from  the  Khanum  and  her  ladies, 


l8o  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

and  if  word  were  sent  the  day  before,  there  should  be  no 
gentlemen  in  the  house  to  embarrass  them. 

Then  with  many  salutations  and  much  talk,  the  Ameri- 
cans were  allowed  to  go,  bearing  with  them  as  many  sweet- 
meats as  could  be  pressed  into  their  hands.  And  the  air 
of  the  outer  world,  though  it  swept  through  the  dirty 
street  of  an  Oriental  city,  seemed  good  in  their  nostrils 
after  the  hot  and  scented  breathlessness  of  the  anderoon. 

Jean  Stuart  carried  home  a  thankful  heart  under  her 
many-colored  necklace.  She  asked  Dan  Lawrence  that  very 
evening  if  he  could  find  her  a  Turkish  teacher. 

"Perhaps  you  are  catching  the  fever?"  said  Dr.  Law- 
rence kindly. 

"Not  the  missionary  fever,  if  that's  what  you  mean,  sir, 
but  I  don't  care  to  be  in  a  place  where  I  can't  make  myself 
understood." 

"This  is  not  to  be  your  last  anderoon  visit,  I  take  it?" 
The  old  gentleman  smiled  at  her  over  his  glasses. 

"Well,  sir,  I  saw  a  girl  making  a  kind  of  embroidery  that 
I  should  like  to  learn." 

"Ah,"  said  Dr.  Lawrence,  subsiding  into  his  Review  of 
Reviews.  It  was  he  who  told  his  son  later  where  to  find 
the  best  Turkish  teacher  for  Jean  Stuart. 

But  Miss  Oddfellow  went  home  feeling  that  her  afternoon 
had  been  a  failure  because  the  women  had  liked  the  song  so 
much  better  than  the  hymn. 

"I  liked  it  myself,"  she  thought,  as  she  packed  away  her 
new  bonnet  in  the  band-box  she  had  brought  out  from 
America  before  the  Civil  War. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AN  EXTRAORDINARY  EVENING 

MR.  JOHN  PRESCOTT  was  ushered  into  the  Lawrence  sit- 
ting-room one  evening  late  in  January.  There  was  a  change 
in  him  which  every  one  began  to  realize  even  before  he  spoke. 
His  figure,  which  was  tall  and  spare,  had  begun  some  time 
ago  to  stoop  a  little ;  but  since  the  shooting  at  Akbar  more 
than  one  of  his  friends  had  noticed  that  he  walked  as  if 
bowing  under  a  very  heavy  load.  Now  he  stood  erect,  and 
his  blue  eyes  sparkled  almost  as  Dan  Lawrence  remembered 
to  have  seen  them  when  he  and  Thorley  Prescott  were  boys 
together. 

"Good  evening,"  said  Mr.  Prescott  genially,  shaking 
hands  all  around,  and  adding  to  Jean  Stuart,  "  I  am  glad  to 
find  you  at  home." 

Jean  smiled  sweetly,  wondering  in  her  own  mind  where 
else  the  man  could  expect  to  find  her  of  an  evening.  She 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  making  social  calls  on  the  Medusa, 
nor  did  she  find  it  exhilarating  to  spend  more  than  one  even- 
ing a  week  with  the  single  ladies  at  the  Seminary ;  and  even 
that  dissipation,  enlivened  by  a  fourhanded  game  of  Halma, 
had  been  known  to  pall  on  her.  Her  greatest  pleasure  of  an 
evening  was  a  romp  with  the  Lawrence  children,  and  she 
had  come  to  a  pass  where  she  secretly  regretted  the  earliness 
of  their  bedtime.  It  took  a  great  deal  of  self-control  not  to 
swell  their  lamentations  by  joining  in  the  plea,  "Can't  we 
stay  up  just  a  few  minutes  longer  ?  " 

She  was  engaged  now,  from  necessity,  in  the  hateful  occu- 
pation of  putting  a  braid  on  her  walking-skirt,  and  she  felt 
it  rather  wonderful  that  she  could  smile  at  all  sweetly  when 

181 


1 82  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

congratulated  on  being  found  at  home.  The  next  moment 
she  sat  up  straight  in  her  chair,  her  work  falling  to  the  ground, 
forgotten  with  all  her  other  grievances.  Mr.  Prescott  was 
saying :  — 

"Well,  friends,  I  have  news  for  you.  There  is  reason  to 
be  almost  certain  that  Hadji  Husain  was  killed  three  weeks 
ago  by  his  own  men." 

"Killed?"  echoed  Margaret  Lawrence. 

"By  his  own  men  !"  exclaimed  Dan. 

"Is  it  possible?"  Dr.  Lawrence  brought  the  words  out 
slowly,  holding  up  both  his  fine  old  hands,  and  divided  in 
his  mind  between  a  feeling  of  glad  relief  and  instant  sorrow 
over  the  death  of  any  sinner  unreached  by  the  Word  of  Life. 

Jean  Stuart  said  nothing.  There  was  too  much  going 
on  in  her  mind. 

"How  direct  is  the  news  ?"  Dan  asked. 

"Thorley  has  been  hearing  it  for  at  least  two  weeks," 
answered  Mr.  Prescott.  "At  first  he  gave  no  credence  to 
the  tidings,  but  within  the  last  week  he  has  spoken  directly 
to  one  of  the  Hadji's  men.  The  fellow  claimed  to  have  had 
no  part  in  the  murder,  but  he  described  it  with  details  that 
seemed  authentic.  Standish  mentioned  the  matter  when 
I  was  up  on  the  mountain  yesterday,  and  on  my  questioning 
him,  Thorley  admitted  what  he  had  heard."  Jean  Stuart's 
cheeks,  which  had  been  exceedingly  pale,  flamed  suddenly 
very  red.  She  started  to  speak,  but  checked  herself  as 
Mr.  Prescott  continued. 

"Of  course,  I  made  it  my  business  to  go  directly  to  the 
Governor.  Dr.  Franklin  went  with  me.  We  had  rather 
a  hard  time  getting  at  His  Excellency ;  but  finally,  late  in 
the  afternoon,  he  granted  an  audience.  Dr.  Franklin  and 
I  agree  that  he  knows  all  about  the  matter  and  that  it  is 
probably  safe  to  believe  the  reports  of  Husain's  death." 

Then  Jean  Stuart  snapped  out  a  few  of  the  words  that 
were  seething  in  her. 


AN   EXTRAORDINARY   EVENING  183 

"How  unkind  of  Mr.  Thorley  Fresco tt  to  conceal  all  this 
from  the  rest  of  us."  Her  voice  sounded  high  and  unnat- 
ural ;  and  when  Mr.  Prescott  turned  to  look  at  her,  he  saw 
that  her  eyes  were  blazing. 

"Thorley  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind,"  he  made  haste  to 
say,  rather  taken  aback.  "You  know  he  was  never  much 
alarmed  over  the  shooting,  and  living  up  at  the  mountain 
as  he  does,  he  perhaps  underestimated  the  anxiety  felt  by 
some  of  us." 

"It's  unreasonable,  of  course,"  Jean  said  angrily,  "for 
a  father  to  be  anxious  about  his  son.  I  am  not  surprised 
that  Mr.  Prescott  disregarded  a  possibility  so  essentially 
human.  As  for  my  part  in  the  matter,  I  suppose  it  never 
even  occurred  to  him  that  I  had  a  part." 

"I  suggested  to  him,"  ventured  Mr.  Prescott,  "that  you 
should  have  been  told  at  once,  and  he  said,"  the  speaker's 
hesitation  was  broken  in  upon  by  Jean,  — 

"Well,  what  did  he  say?" 

"He  said,  pardon  me  for  repeating  his  somewhat  informal 
language,  he  said  you  were  a  '  dead  game  sport '  and  that  he 
was  certain  you  at  least  had  never  bothered  your  head  again 
about  that  silly  shooting." 

Jean  rose  to  her  feet,  glittering  with  rage  to  the  very  ends 
of  her  hair.  "A  'dead  game  sport,' "  she  said,  choking,  "is 
one  who,  by  carelessness,  brings  the  possibility  of  death 
upon  another,  and  then  sits  back  to  enjoy  the  spectacle? 
I  thank  Mr.  Thorley  Prescott  sincerely.  You  will  excuse 
me  now?  Good  evening." 

She  swept  toward  the  door,  leaving  her  sewing  materials 
and  her  walking-skirt  with  its  trailing  braid  wherever  they 
happened  to  lie.  The  Lawrences  and  Mr.  Prescott  heard 
her  going  up  the  stairs.  Suddenly  she  stopped  and  ran 
down  again.  The  door  opened ;  and  she  came  in,  a  very 
different  Jean  from  the  Fury  who  had  just  left  the  room. 

"Mr.  Prescott,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  to  that 


184  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

gentleman,  who  stood  bewildered  and  silent,  "please  let  me 
thank  you  for  understanding  me  so  well."  She  smiled 
charmingly  at  him,  without  one  trace  of  any  emotion  more 
ardent  than  that  which  accompanies  the  acknowledgment 
of  a  social  favor.  "I  begin  to  feel  flattered,"  she  added, 
''because  every  one  did  not  realize  what  a  terrible  funk  I 
have  had  ever  since  I  first  beheld  that  greasy  green  turban 
on  the  head  of  Hadji  Husain."  She  shuddered  a  little  as 
she  said  the  name.  "I  believe  I  have  not  slept  straight 
through  one  night  since  we  left  the  River  Aras,  and  now," 
she  straightened  her  shoulders  and  threw  back  her  head, 
"I  suppose  you  Christians  have  something  that  keeps  you 
from  feeling  as  triumphantly  glad  as  I  do." 

As  she  spoke,  she  distributed  a  mischievous  glance  that 
covered  a  keen  look  into  every  one  of  the  four  faces. 

"I  hope  you  will  allow  your  anger  against  my  son  to 
diminish."  Mr.  Fresco tt  was  always  a  man  of  mild  per- 
sistence. "  I  assure  you  —  " 

Jean  Stuart  held  up  her  hand.  "When  did  I  ever  dare 
to  say  I  was  angry  at  your  son  ?  "  she  challenged  him.  "  It's 
my  Turkish  teacher  who  will  be  angry  at  me,  if  I  don't  go 
right  away  and  study  my  lesson ;  so  I  must  say  '  Good  even- 
ing' and  another  hearty  '  Thank  you.' " 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  Dan  and  his  wife  were  left 
alone  in  the  sitting-room,  Margaret  said  :  — 

"I  can't  help  wondering,  Dan,  whether  Miss  Stuart  would 
have  been  quite  as  angry  to-night  if  Thorley  Prescott  had 
been  coming  to  see  her  lately  as  often  as  he  did  before 
Christmas." 

"Why,  what  difference  would  that  have  made?"  asked 
Dan. 

"Don't  pretend  to  be  stupid,"  answered  his  wife.  "You 
know  you're  not." 

Pan's  face  creased  into  a  smile,  but  he  turned  away  to 
his  book.  Presently  Margaret  Lawrence  began  again, 


AN    EXTRAORDINARY   EVENING  185 

"I  do  think  Mr.  Prescott  is  more  to  be  pitied  than  any  one 
I  know.  He's  lonelier  than  ever,  now  that  Thorley  stays 
on  the  mountain." 

Dan  looked  up.  "Can  you  call  a  man  lonely  when  his 
lot  is  overflowing  with  —  conversation  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Margaret  emphatically.  "Let's  see," 
she  went  on,  "he  has  been  married  four  years.  Do  you  sup- 
pose it  would  have  happened,  if  Thorley  had  been  out  here 
to  keep  him  company?" 

Dan  laid  down  his  book,  took  off  his  gold-bowed  glasses, 
and  stretched  himself.  "Well,  no,  I  suppose  it  wouldn't. 
In  the  old  days  Thor  and  his  father  were  all  the  world  to 
each  other.  Then  Thor  went  to  America  and  delayed  his 
coming  back  year  after  year ;  but  I  think  it  was  that  last 
extra  year  in  Germany  that  did  the  business.  I  never  saw 
a  man  so  disappointed  as  Mr.  Prescott." 

"He  had  malaria  that  next  summer,"  Margaret  went  on. 

"'And  broke  both  his  pairs  of  glasses,"  Dan  added.  "She 
read  to  him  every  day  all  through  his  vacation." 

"And  that  settled  it,"  finished  Margaret. 

"It's  very  strange,"  mused  Dan.  "I  never  thought  she 
was  so  —  so  — 

"Objectionable,"  suggested  Margaret. 

"Well,  yes,"  Dan  consented  meditatively.  "I  might 
perhaps  have  said  obnoxious,  or  even  outrageous." 

"Why,  Dan!" 

"Why  wasn't  she  that  way  when  she  was  Miss  Little  of 
the  Seminary  ?  She  seemed  pleasant  enough  then.  I  used 
to  think  she  rather  went  out  of  her  way  to  be  agreeable." 

Margaret  smiled  wisely.  "  I  must  say,"  she  agreed,  "  that 
her  stepson  doesn't  make  it  easy  for  her  to  be  amiable." 

"I  sometimes  think,"  said  Dan,  "that  it's  almost  a  relief 
to  Mr.  Prescott,  now  that  Thor's  away.  He  can  go  up  and 
see  him  peaceably  on  the  mountain.  Don't  you  remember 
how  genial  he  was  that  day  at  dinner  ?  " 


1 86  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"He's  awfully  proud  of  Thor." 

"Yes,  and  he  has  a  right  to  be.  That  relief  work  is  a 
magnificent  thing.  If  only  it  can  be  kept  up,  it  will  do  more 
good  than  any  amount  of  preaching." 

"Oh,  Dan,  do  you  really  think  so?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  What's  the  use  of  preaching  to  men 
unless  you  can  find  them  scope  for  the  preaching  to  act  itself 
out  in  their  lives ;  and  how  can  they  act  as  they  ought  when 
every  moment  is  a  struggle  for  daily  bread,  when  they're 
afraid  to  be  industrious  and  frugal  because  the  results  of 
their  work  are  sure  to  be  snatched  from  them  ?  Those  men 
working  under  our  protection  are  learning  lessons  which  a 
thousand  Sundays  of  church  services  could  never  teach 
them.  And  as  for  Thor,"  Dan's  face  broke  into  its  most 
radiant  smile,  "I  used  to  be  afraid  that  the  boy  would  never 
learn  how  to  be  contented  in  this  work.  In  the  Treasury 
he  never  would  have  learned,  but  now,  thank  God,  he's 
getting  his  chance.  I  told  you  about  his  Sunday  School  in 
the  village,  didn't  I  ?  Dear  me,  I  have  to  laugh  now,  when 
I  remember  how  ashamed  he  was  to  have  me  hear  what  the 
children  said  to  him  !  He  must  have  been  teaching  them 
ever  since  those  families  settled  in  the  deserted  houses." 

"I  wish  he  wouldn't  be  so  secret  about  it,"  said  Margaret. 
"He  ought  to  let  his  light  shine." 

"Give  him  time,  give  him  time.  It's  shining  brightly 
enough  on  the  mountain.  Roger  Standish  told  me  he  con- 
sidered the  Black  Saib  a  perfectly  great  missionary." 

Mrs.  Lawrence  wrinkled  her  forehead.  "I'd  give  any- 
thing," she  said,  "if  I  dared  to  give  Jean  Stuart  a  little  ad- 
vice. Amy  Lea  has  lost  seven  pounds  in  the  last  month,  and 
honestly,  Dan,  it  is  not  fair.  He's  ages  younger  than  Miss 
Stuart,  anyway ;  and  there's  Mr.  Freyer,  too.  Perhaps  she 
doesn't  mean  to  be  so  fascinating,  but  it  really  seems  some- 
times as  if  she  did.  Do  you  suppose  it  would  do  any  good 
if  I  spoke?" 


AN   EXTRAORDINARY   EVENING  187 

"I  must  say,"  Dan  admitted  rather  sadly,  "that  I  am 
disappointed  in  Miss  Stuart.  I  didn't  think  she  was  a 
flirt,  yet  Roger—  The  door  into  the  hall  which  had 
been  left  unlatched,  was  suddenly  pushed  open.  Miss 
Stuart  appeared  in  the  doorway,  her  cheeks  very  red  and 
her  eyes  sparkling  mischievously. 

"I  couldn't  help  hearing,"  she  said,  "from  'disappointed' 
onward.  Excuse  me  just  a  minute  while  I  gather  up  my 
goods  and  my  chattels  and  don't  look  at  me ;  for  I  verily 
believe  '  my  face  is  black. '  Go  on  with  the  next  person, 
though,  if  you  will.  I  should  love  to  hear  you.  Truly  I 
never  heard  you  gossip  before,  except  through  Danny!" 

She  shook  her  head  demurely  at  Dan  and  vanished  with 
the  skirt  and  her  workbag  heaped  up  in  her  arms. 

"I  like  that  girl,"  declared  Dan.  "She  has  a  temper, 
but  she  knows  when  not  to  use  it.  I  have  an  idea  that 
after  this,  she'll  send  Standish  about  his  business." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ANOTHER  LETTER  HOME 

MURAMNA,  PERSIA, 
February  28,  1904. 

MY  DEAR  AUNT  CORDELIA, 

Your  last  letter  with  the  account  of  Uncle  Philip's  new 
Rembrandt,  gave  me  the  best  laugh  I  have  had  for  many 
a  long  day.  I  chuckled  over  it  for  half  an  hour  at  least  and 
have  been  snickering  since  whenever  I  thought  of  it.  That 
Uncle  Phil,  of  all  people,  should  have  been  so  outrageously 
swindled  !  I  wonder  which  was  more  disgusted,  you  or  he  ! 

I  rode  way  out  to  the  College  to  share  the  joke  with  Dr. 
MacColl,  she  being  the  only  one  of  my  friends  here,  who 
would  know  a  Rembrandt  from  a  hole  in  the  wall.  But  she 
was  so  much  taken  up  with  a  scheme  of  her  own  that  she 
paid  no  attention  to  my  story ;  and  when  I  found  out  what 
the  scheme  was  and  that  it  could  be  stretched  to  include  me, 
I  forgot  that  there  was  anything  in  the  world  as  civilized 
as  a  fake  painting. 

Dr.  MacColPs  scheme  is  for  a  trip  to  Kurdistan.  She  has 
been  summoned  by  a  special  messenger  to  go  and  see  the 
wife  of  a  Kurdish  chief,  who  lives  in  a  mountain  village 
about  five  days'  journey  from  here.  Dr.  MacColl  is  anxious 
to  obey  the  summons  for  two  reasons.  One  is  that  the 
missionaries  may  thus  find  access  to  these  wildest  of  all  wild 
people,  whom  it  has  hitherto  been  impossible  to  reach  by 
any  form  of  missionary  strategy.  The  other  reason  is  that 

188 


ANOTHER   LETTER   HOME  189 

the  doctor  thinks  this  woman  has  a  well-developed  case  of 
an  interesting  disease  which  she  is  anxious  to  track  in  the 
cause  of  Science. 

Now  there  are  only  two  men  who  would  care  to  risk  taking 
the  doctor  on  this  wild-goose  chase  into  the  Kurdish  moun- 
tains. One  is  Dan  Lawrence,  who  has  to  go  in  that  direction 
on  his  way  to  a  place  in  Turkey,  where  he  has  mission  busi- 
ness. The  other  is  ThorleyPrescott,  who  has  a  special  affinity 
for  Kurds,  having  collogued  with  them  on  every  possible 
occasion  from  his  infancy  until  now,  and  having  gradually 
collected  a  knowledge  of  their  dialects,  which  are  like  no 
other  language  in  the  world.  I  verily  believe  he  is  more 
akin  to  these  ferocious  tribes  than  to  his  own  mild,  blue-eyed 
father,  who  is  a  parson  and  a  theological  professor  to  the 
very  backbone.  It  happens  that  the  work  on  the  mountain, 
which  Mr.  Prescott,  the  younger,  is  superintending,  can  be 
left  just  now  in  charge  of  the  native  foreman.  There  is 
little  for  the  men  to  do  up  there,  until  the  ground  softens  so 
that  they  can  get  fresh  clay  for  pipe-making  and  begin  to 
dig  the  ditches  for  laying  the  waterway  to  the  city.  So 
most  of  the  men  have  gone  to  look  after  their  families,  and  the 
remnant  can  be  trusted  to  behave  themselves. 

I  don't  know  why  I  write  all  this  to  you,  since  you  have 
shown  no  interest  in  my  industrial  schemes,  except  when  you 
warned  me  to  leave  them  alone  for  the  good  of  my  pocket- 
book.  But  I'm  coming  to  that  later.  Let  me  finish  the 
subject  in  hand  by  informing  you  that  the  expedition  to 
Kurdistan  is  to  start  day  after  to-morrow  under  the  guidance 
of  the  chief  whose  wife  is  ill,  that  Dr.  MacColl  is  to  be 
escorted  by  Thorley  Prescott,  that  Dan  Lawrence  is  to 
travel  with  them  as  far  as  his  way  lies  with  theirs ;  and  that 
they  have  unanimously  appointed  as  tent-guest  and  travel- 
ling companion,  no  less  a  person  than  your  niece  !  You 
don't  know  how  pleased  I  am  with  this  invitation,  nor  with 
how  much  alacrity  I  have  accepted  it.  I  will  now  admit 


THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

to  you  a  truth  which  I  have  hitherto  attempted  (vainly, 
I  fear)  to  exclude  from  my  epistolary  communications.  For 
the  last  two  months,  I  have  been  bored  to  extinction.  I  pass 
lightly  over  the  very  obvious  reasons  for  this  sad  state  of 
things.  You  yourself,  in  your  late  letters,  have  shown  a 
realizing  sense  of  certain  very  tiresome  features  in  my  situa- 
tion. Of  others,  you  can  never  have  any  conception;  nor 
would  I  wish  you  to  have.  The  one  fact,  that  you  pick  out 
as  the  worst  feature  of  my  hard  lot,  the  only  thing  that  has 
offered  me  any  satisfaction  or  amusement,  shows  that  your 
sympathy  for  me  is  only  rudimentary.  My  teaching  is  all 
that  keeps  me  from  setting  off  alone  across  the  mountains 
toward  HOME.  Imagine  yourself  set  down  among  a  few 
perfectly  virtuous  people  who  have  no  desire  in  life  except 
to  better  the  condition  of  an  evil-smelling  multitude  by 
means  of  beliefs  which  you  could  never  bring  yourself  to 
swallow.  Imagine  yourself  compelled  often  to  sit  down  at 
table  with  Nestorian  persons  of  a  very  doubtful  cleanliness 
and  a  fixed  aversion  to  eating  with  anything  but  their  fingers. 
Imagine  yourself  restricted  as  concerns  social  life  to  the 
company  of  fifteen  missionaries,  all  of  whom  are  so  busy 
saving  souls  that  they  have  no  time  to  bother  with  you. 
Why,  Aunt  Cordelia,  if  it  wasn't,  for  the  children,  I  should 
die!  Imagine  me  considering  it  a  holiday  treat  of  the  very 
most  dissipated  kind  when  I  am  asked  to  visit  an  anderoon 
where  I  behold  a  lot  of  undressed  and  highly  painted  fe- 
males, each  of  whom  asks  me  the  same  impertinent  questions 
with  exactly  the  same  degree  of  curiosity  in  her  large  dull 
eyes.  Imagine  me  restricted  to  riding  alone  because  no  one 
has  time  to  go  with  me.  (Of  course  I  take  a  servant  or  two. 
I  should  not  be  safe  without.) 

You  are  indebted  for  these  details  hitherto  withheld,  to 
the  fact  that  by  the  time  this  letter  reaches  you,  my  contract 
will  have  expired,  and  I  shall  be  preparing  to  start  HOME. 
How  I  shall  go,  who  will  attend  me,  what  will  be  my  route 


ANOTHER   LETTER   HOME  19! 

and  what  my  means  of  conveyance,  I  know  not ;  but  on 
April  1 5th,  I  start. 

To  speak  seriously,  Aunt  Cordelia,  I  have  a  plan  at  last. 
The  mail  this  week  brought  me  a  letter  from  Bertha  Court- 
landt  Mullins.  She  is  on  her  way  to  join  Robert,  who  is  still 
kicking  his  heels  in  the  neighborhood  of  Bushire  on  the 
Persian  Gulf.  Bertha  expects  to  reach  Bushire  (by  way  of 
the  Suez  Canal)  in  about  two  weeks.  She  says  that  a  tele- 
gram from  me  will  bring  them  overland  to  my  rescue  as  fast 
as  a  caravan  can  travel.  Now  I  call  that  mighty  kind  of 
Bertha  and  of  Robert.  Of  Mr.  Mullins  I  say  nothing,  be- 
cause I  fancy  that  he  has  nothing  to  say. 

I  expect  to  be  away  on  this  Kurdish  trip  for  about  two 
weeks  (the  spring  vacation  makes  it  possible  for  me  to 
leave  my  Duties).  After  that,  if  I  am  still  of  the  same 
mind,  I  shall  telegraph  Bertha  to  come.  It  will  take  them 
at  least  a  month  to  get  here,  and  then  —  Good-by,  Mu- 
ramna  ! 

All  this  should  answer  the  questions  about  the  gossip  you 
have  evidently  been  hearing.  How  on  earth  gossip  can 
have  reached  you  from  this  mammon-forsaken  place,/  don't 
know.  Let  me  tell  you,  without  further  ado,  that  there  isn't 
a  word  of  truth  in  any  of  it.  There  is  no  widower  with  three 
children  here.  Let  me  inform  you  outright  that  since  I  left 
school,  I  have  never  passed  so  long  a  time  without  an  offer 
of  marriage.  As  for  the  money  I  am  supposed  to  have 
spent  for  aqueducts  and  cathedrals,  why  didn't  you  just 
ease  your  mind  by  speaking  to  Mr.  Erskine?  He  would 
have  told  you  that  my  expenses  since  I  reached  here,  have 
all  been  covered  by  the  rental  of  my  New  York  house.  Even 
my  Lakewood  rent  I  have  not  touched,  and  what  I  have 
spent  of  my  regular  income  has  been  for  the  lawsuit  and  a 
few  other  things  that  have  nothing  to  do  with  my  life  here. 
You  are  the  only  one  to  whom  I  would  make  these  explana- 
tions, but  you  and  Uncle  Philip  have  a  right  to  know  that 


1 92  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

I  am  not  doing  anything  foolish.  Of  course,  I  have  given 
some  money  to  help  along  the  work  here  because  that  was 
the  only  way  I  could  acknowledge  my  great  obligations  to 
these  people  who  rescued  me  from  a  grave  predicament,  and 
then  forced  upon  me  the  hospitality  of  their  own  homes.  I 
would  not  have  you  think  I  am  ungrateful  to  them  because 
I  have  passed  so  many  undiverted  hours  in  their  midst. 
Most  of  them  are  charming  people,  whose  acquaintance  I 
should  like  to  cultivate,  if  they  weren't  so  infernally  busy. 
Do  excuse  me.  I  could  not  help  it. 

And  now  I  must  bring  this  long  epistle  to  a  close.  Let 
it  make  up,  please,  for  the  letters  you  are  not  likely  to  get 
next  week  or  the  week  after.  And  don't  worry  about  my 
trip ;  for  if  anything  should  happen  to  me  (which  it  can't 
when  I  am  doubly  protected  by  the  Kurdish  Chief  and  the 
Black  Saib),  you  will  have  heard  about  it  by  cable  long  be- 
fore this  letter  reaches  you. 

Don't  think  for  the  world  that  I  am  ungrateful  to  the 
Lawrences  or  the  Franklins  or  Dr.  MacColl.  They  are  the 
dearest  people  I  ever  met.  Miss  Oddfellow  and  Miss  Trench 
are  dears,  too ;  but  I  don't  know  them  so  well.  And  I  like 
Mr.  Prescott  immensely  —  the  older  one,  I  mean  —  with 
the  younger  I  have  not  unproved  my  acquaintance,  as  I  have 
not  seen  him  to  speak  to  since  Christmas.  Dan  Lawrence 
brings  me  his  questions  about  the  work  at  Akbar ;  and  I  let 
him  settle  them  to  suit  himself.  I'm  proud  of  that  work  at 
Akbar.  It's  been  paying  expenses  for  some  time,  and  it  has 
made  over  a  band  of  ruffians  into  a  community  of  self-re- 
specting artisans.  You  needn't  tell  me  it  hasn't  paid  for 
itself  many  times  over. 

After  all,  even  I,  who  am  blind,  I  suppose,  to  the  spiritual 
side  of  the  work  these  missionaries  are  doing,  even  I  can't 
help  seeing  that  they  are  doing  something,  that  it  makes  a 
change  in  this  wicked  place  for  them  just  to  be  here,  and  that 
no  one  can  ever  be  quite  the  same  again  who  has  passed  under 


ANOTHER   LETTER   HOME  193 

the  influence  of  their  lives.  I  may  not  go  to  church  any 
more  when  I  come  home ;  but  the  world  will  be  a  different 
place  to  me  all  my  life  because  I  have  lived  for  a  whole  win- 
ter in  the  same  house  with  Grandpa  Lawrence  and  Dan  and 
Margaret  and  Ruth  and  Danny,  and  because  I've  seen  them 
living  Christ.  You  may  think  that's  a  strange  thing  for  me 
to  say ;  but  I've  seen  it  and  felt  it  and  known  it  and  won- 
dered at  it.  Perhaps  that's  one  big  reason  why  I  feel  so 
awfully  lonely  — 

If  the  mail  wasn't  just  going  out,  you'd  never  get  this 
letter  as  it  is.  My  pen  has  run  on  in  spite  of  me,  and  now 
I  find  Mr.  L.  is  waiting. 

In  great  haste, 

Your  ever  loving  JEAN. 


CHAPTER  XXVH 

THORLEY   SURPRISES   HIS   FATHER 

THORLEY  PRESCOTT  scowled  as  he  finished  reading  the 
note  his  father  had  brought  up  to  him  at  Akbar.  When  he 
had  read  it  twice  through,  he  flung  it  savagely  down  on 
the  table. 

"What  right  had  Dr.  MacColl,"  he  demanded,  "to  invite 
anybody,  without  consulting  me?" 

"The  doctor  came  to  me  as  soon  as  it  developed  that 
Miss  Stuart  would  like  to  be  her  companion  on  this  journey. 
The  doctor,  of  course,  would  not  be  averse  to  going  alone,  if 
it  were  necessary ;  but  the  trip  will  be  much  more  agreeable 
if  another  lady  shares  it  with  her.  We  both  felt  and  Dan 
agreed  that  you  would  have  no  objection  to  taking  Miss 
Stuart.  Can  you  tell  me  why  her  going  is  so  displeasing  to 
you  ?  I  thought  you  had  come  to  like  her  very  well." 

'•'Like  her  !"  said  Thorley  angrily.  He  had  been  fidget- 
ing and  fuming  all  through  his  father's  speech,  getting  ready 
to  interrupt  as  soon  as  he  could  think  of  the  right  thing  to 
say.  But  his  father  finished  speaking  before  anything 
suitable  had  developed;  so  Thorley  snatched  desperately 
at  an  opinion  which  he  had  long  since  put  aside. 

"What  has  liking  to  do  with  it?"  he  growled.  "She's 
rash  and  ignorant,  and  she  doesn't  know  how  to  travel  in 
Persia." 

"Oh,  pshaw,"  said  Mr.  Prescott,  with  unusual  impatience. 
"She  knows  enough.  Very  few  women  would  have  been  as 
brave  as  she  was  on  her  journey  out  here.  It  wasn't  her 

194 


THORLEY  SURPRISES  HIS  FATHER         195 

fault  that  things  happened  as  they  did.  Besides,  you  and 
Dan  will  be  in  control  of  this  expedition;  and  a  woman 
doesn't  need  to  know  anything,  when  there  are  men  to  look 
after  her." 

Thorley  muttered  that  he  didn't  care  to  be  responsible 
for  running  people  into  danger. 

"Danger!"  cried  Mr.  Prescott.  "Have  you  reason  to 
suppose  that  you  are  liable  to  attack?  Isn't  the  Hadji 
dead?" 

Thorley  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Even  as  to  that,"  he 
said  dryly,  "I  have  never  been  sure;  but  there  are  more 
rascals  in  the  Kurdish  Mountains  than  Hadji  Husain." 

Mr.  Prescott  regarded  his  son  for  some  moments  with  a 
perplexity  that  was  almost  comical. 

At  last  he  said,  "  My  dear  son,  I  have  never  before  known 
you  to  err  on  the  side  of  caution.  What  is  the  matter  with 
you,  anyway  ?  " 

Thorley  laughed  sardonically.  "The  matter  is  that  I  do 
not  wish  to  go  on  a  camping  party  with  Miss  Jean  Stuart ; 
and,"  he  added,  planting  his  feet  and  squaring  his  jaw, 
"nothing  that  you  can  say,  will  make  me  go." 

Mr.  Prescott  sat  down  in  the  nearest  chair  and  made  a 
helpless  gesture  with  his  hands.  "What  are  we  to  do?" 
he  asked  plaintively.  "Miss  Stuart  has  been  invited  to 
go,  and  she  accepted  the  invitation  with  a  pleasure  that  was 
almost  pathetic." 

Thorley 's  face  changed,  and  he  stood  uneasily  on  one  foot. 
"Does  she  care  about  going?"  he  demanded. 

"She's  wild  with  joy  at  the  prospect.  She  met  me  last 
night  with  her  face  all  aglow,  and  begged  me  to  be  sure  to 
tell  you  how  delighted  she  is  about  the  camping  trip.  She 
seemed  to  think  you  knew  about  her  being  of  the  party  — 
and  perhaps  I  was  wrong,  Thor  —  I  hadn't  the  heart  to 
undeceive  her." 

Thorley's  expression  during  these  remarks  had  changed 


196  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

again  and  again :  from  perplexity  to  pain,  from  pain  to  grati- 
tude, from  gratitude  to  joy  and  back  again  to  perplexity. 
He  sat  down  now  and  rubbed  one  hand  over  his  forehead 
while  the  other  lay  clenched  on  the  table. 

"If  she  wants  to  go,"  he  said  slowly,  "of  course  it  must  be 
managed.  She  must  have  whatever  she  wants,  if  we  can 
give  it  to  her."  Then,  after  a  moment  of  perplexed  thought, 
"I  don't  see  why  she  should  care  so  much  about  it." 

"The  winter  has  been  pretty  dull  for  her,"  ventured  John 
Fresco tt.  "I  fancy  she  has  never  before  been  confined  to  a 
regular  round  of  duties.  And  she  is  very  fond  of  an  out- 
door life.  She  told  me  that  she  spends  the  better  part  of 
her  winters  in  Lakewood  where  she  can  be  all  the  time  in 
the  fresh  air.  There  is  no  form  of  exercise  that  she  can  take 
here,  except  an  occasional  horseback  ride." 

Thorley  had  been  looking  more  and  more  dejected.  "I 
never  thought  of  that,"  he  said  very  meekly.  "Of  course 
it  has  been  as  dull  as  a  funeral  procession.  It's  no  wonder 
she  wants  to  get  away ;  and  she  must  go  on  this  trip  at  any 
cost." 

He  sank  again  into  thought.  Presently  he  looked  up  with 
a  new  idea  which  relieved  him,  evidently,  but  did  not  please 
him  much. 

"Why  should  7  be  the  man  to  go,  Father?  You  need  a 
change  more  than  I  do.  The  Seminary  will  be  having 
vacation  —  why  not  go  in  my  place  ?  Yes,  that  will  fix 
every  thing." 

Thorley  rose  and  began  pacing  the  room.  Mr.  Prescott's 
eyes  followed  the  motions  of  his  son.  It  was  evident  that 
something  of  importance  lay  behind  Thorley's  behavior. 
Mr.  Prescott  was  neither  suspicious  nor  observant.  He  had 
not  seen  anything  particular,  as  he  himself  would  have 
phrased  it,  in  Thorley's  behavior  toward  Miss  Stuart.  He 
had  overheard  two  servants  speculating  as  to  whether  his  son 
would  not  soon  declare  himself  to  Miss  Stuart's  host  as  "an 


THORLEY  SURPRISES  HIS  FATHER         197 

eager  one."  Then,  too,  Mrs.  Prescott  had  called  his  atten- 
tion to  something  that  happened  at  the  Christmas  party. 
He  had  been  so  very  bold  as  to  tell  her  that  her  imagination 
was  running  away  with  her ;  she  had  retorted  that  he  would 
see,  and  he  was  now  very  sure  that  if  there  had  been  any- 
thing since  to  see,  she  would  long  ago  have  pointed  it  out 
to  him  with  details  that  might  have  thrown  light  on  the 
present  obscurity.  As  it  was,  he  had  nothing  to  guide  him, 
except  a  feeling  that  he  must  find  some  way  of  helping  Thor. 
It  was  impossible  for  him,  as  head  of  the  Seminary,  to  go  on 
the  Kurdish  trip.  That,  at  least,  was  a  settled  fact;  and 
he  roused  himself  finally  to  say  so.  Thorley  argued  the 
matter  point  by  point,  and  at  last  accepted  the  impossi- 
bility with  a  grimness  that  seemed  to  cover  a  gleam  of  sat- 
isfaction. 

"  It  may  be,  however,"  said  Mr.  Prescott,  feeling  his  way 
very  slowly,  "that  Freyer,  who  is  perfectly  well  now,  could 
be  induced  to  go  in  your  place." 

"That  old  maid  !"  cried  Thorley. 

"He  knows  the  mountains  perfectly,  and  his  acquaintance 
with  Kurdish  dialects  is  almost  equal  to  your  own." 

"The  Kurds  have  no  use  for  him.  He's  nothing  more 
to  them  than  a  Nestorian." 

"Besides,  it  might  be  doing  him  a  favor.  The  ladies  say 
he  would  like  to  induce  Miss  Stuart  to  remain  here  as  his 
wife." 

"His  wife  !  Is  the  man  a  fool  ?"  Thorley  gave  the  wall 
a  kick  that  brought  down  a  bushel  or  so  of  plaster. 

"Of  course  we  all  are  aware  that  Miss  Stuart  is  not  just 
the  person  for  a  missionary's  wife,  but  — 

"For  God's  sake,  Father,  if  you  can't  talk  sense,  keep 
still."  Thorley  roared  the  last  words  in  a  tone  that  made 
his  father  wince.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  the  Thunderer 
added,  less  vehemently.  Then  he  turned  away  and  sat 
down  at  the  table  with  his  back  to  his  father. 


198  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Mr.  Prescott  went  over  to  him  and  put  his  hand  on  the 
broad  shoulder.  "Sammy,"  he  said,  "can't  you  tell  your 
old  Dad  about  it?" 

Thorley  look  up,  startled,  into  the  kind  blue  eyes.  Never 
since  his  mother's  death  had  his  father  called  him  Sammy. 
Never  since  his  return  to  Persia  had  either  of  them  spoken 
the  old  nickname,  Dad.  Thorley  had  looked  up,  ready  to 
resent  this  return  to  the  old  intimacy.  But  it  was  not  in 
him,  angry  and  sullen  though  he  was,  to  withstand  the  love 
in  his  father's  face.  Down  went  the  proud  black  head 
until  his  face  was  hidden  in  his  arms  that  rested  on  the  table. 

"You  love  her,  my  son?"  said  John  Prescott,  very 
gently.  "A  noble  love  will  make  a  better  man  of  you;  and 
I  congratulate  you,  even  if  she  has  said  'No.' ' 

Thorley  squirmed  under  his  father's  hand,  as  if  every 
word  were  a  blow.  At  the  last  one,  he  jumped  from  his 
chair  with  his  face  aflame. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  would  ask  her,"  he  cried,  "even  if  I 
could?" 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Mr.  Prescott,  with  a  quiet  em- 
phasis that  was  more  than  a  match  for  the  violence  of  his 
son.  "You  have  everything  good  to  give  her  —  the  love 
of  a  strong  man,  and  a  share  in  the  greatest  work  on  earth. 
What  more  can  any  woman  ask  ?  If  that  is  not  enough  for 
her,  if  that  is  not  more  to  her  than  everything  else,  she  is  no 
mate  for  your  mother's  son." 

"Oh,  Father,"  said  Thorley. 

John  Prescott,  who  was  the  taller  man,  looked  down  into 
the  dark  eyes  that  squarely  met  his  own.  He  had  nothing 
more  to  say. 

Thorley  turned  away  very  soon  and  began  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room,  quickly  and  with  restless  strides.  His  father 
sat  down  again  helplessly  in  the  chair  by  the  table.  At 
last  Thorley  came  to  a  standstill  at  the  side  of  the 
table. 


THORLEY   SURPRISES   HIS   FATHER  199 

"Father,"  he  said  abruptly,  "I'm  going  to  tell  you  some- 
thing. I'm  engaged  to  marry  Esther  Wilcox." 

Mr.  Prescott  started  from  his  chair  with  an  expression 
of  extreme  astonishment.  "Upon  my  word,  Thor,"  he 
said  lamely,  "I  had  no  idea  of  that." 

Thorley  laughed. 

"Don't  do  that,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Prescott. 

"Shall  I  cry  ?"  said  Thorley. 

Mr.  Prescott  made  a  deprecating  gesture.  "Are  you 
going  to  tell  me  anything  more?"  he  asked. 

"Why  yes,"  said  Thorley,  jauntily.  "I  may  as  well. 
She  wrote  me  only  last  week  that  she  wished  I  would  tell 
you  of  our  engagement." 

"You  correspond?"  said  Mr.  Prescott  weakly. 

"I  believe  that  is  considered  the  thing  to  do  when  one  is 
engaged.  Circumstances  forbid  our  writing  every  day, 
but—" 

"  But  how  —  when  —  why  ?  " 

"How  do  we  get  the  letters  into  the  mail-bag ?  When  do 
we  remove  them  ?  Why  are  they  not  seen  by  all  the  mem- 
bers of  both  Stations  ?  It  is  a  wonder." 

"Thorley,  I  beg - 

"Well,  I'm  explaining  as  fast  as  I  can." 

" I  don't  mean— " 

"  I  know  you  don't ;  but  for  once  I  want  to  talk.  I  want 
you  to  know  that  I  send  my  letters  under  cover  to  Mr.  Smith, 
and  that  hers  come  to  me  with  the  address  typewritten  on 
envelopes  that  have  Smith's  name  printed  in  the  corner.  I 
want  you  to  know  that  I  asked  her  to  marry  me  when  I  was 
taking  her  to  Tabriz  in  the  fall.  It  seems  she  hated  to 
leave  here,  she  didn't  know  the  Smiths,  with  whom  she  was 
going  to  live.  She  was  lonely  and  homesick  and  miserable. 
I  could  hear  her  crying  nights  when  Miss  Trotter  was 
asleep.  (Miss  Trotter  of  Takresht  was  with  us,  you  re- 
member.) Well,  one  day  she  cried  while  I  was  trying  to 


200  THE    GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

cheer  her  up  a  bit,  and  —  the  first  thing  I  knew  we  were  en- 
gaged." 

Mr.  Prescott  had  been  nodding  very  gravely  all  through 
the  last  part  of  this  account. 

"Do  you  love  her  at  all,  Thorley?"  he  asked. 

"Why  yes,  I  suppose  I  did,"  said  Thorley  slowly.  "I 
always  enjoyed  being  with  her.  She  was  quiet  and  sensible 
and  —  and  —  sweet.  I  like  her  now,  very  much,  and  I'd 
do  anything  I  could  to  make  her  happy,  but  —  "  he  paused 
and  a  very  different  look  came  into  his  face,  "  the  sun,  moon, 
and  stars  don't  rise  and  set  for  me  in  her  smile." 

" Thorley,"  said  Mr.  Prescott  decidedly,  "you  have  no 
business  to  marry  a  woman  unless  you  love  her  supremely. 
With  your  temperament,  you  would  both  be  wretched,  and 
it  would  be  worse  for  her  than  for  you.  You  know,  my  son, 
that  I  am  not  one  who  regards  a  promise  lightly ;  but  if  I 
were  you,  I  would  write  and  tell  this  young  woman  how  things 
are  with  you.  It  would  cost  her  less  pain  now,  than  to  find 
later  that  she  does  not  possess  your  best  love." 

Thorley  regarded  his  father  for  some  time.  Once  he 
smiled  in  a  manner  that  made  the  older  man  turn  away  with 
a  groan.  Then  he  laughed  discordantly,  "Father,"  he 
said,  "if  you  were  engaged  to  a  woman  and  found  that  you 
loved  another  woman,  what  would  you  do?" 

"I  would  try,  if  possible,  to  kill  the  second  love,  and  re- 
store the  first." 

"But  if  absence  and  work  and  will  power  did  not  help  you, 
what  then?" 

"  I  would  tell  the  truth  to  Number  One  and  leave  myself 
in  her  hands,"  said  his  father.  "If  she  were  a  true  woman, 
that  would  be  enough." 

Thorley  laughed  again. 

"Don't  do  that,  Thorley,"  cried  John  Prescott,  "please 
don't." 

"I  won't  again,"  said  Thorley.    "Well,  suppose  that  you 


THORLEY   SURPRISES   HIS   FATHER  2OI 

had  left  yourself  in  the  hands  of  Number  One,  and  suppose 
that  Number  One  had  been  kind  enough  to  keep  her  hands 
upon  you,  what  then?" 

"You  have!"  cried  Mr.  Prescott.  "She  has!  How 
could  she?" 

Thorley  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  wrote  her,"  he  said 
grimly,  "in. full.  In  her  answer  she  made  no  mention  of  my 
confession,  except  to  say  that  she  loved  me  too  much  to  take 
anything  amiss  that  I  did  or  omitted  to  do,  and  that  she  was 
sure  all  would  yet  turn  out  well  for  both  of  us,  if  we  stood  by 
our  old  trust  in  each  other.  That's  all  she  has  ever 
said." 

John  Prescott  bowed  his  head  over  the  table  and  was  silent 
a  long  time.  "Sammy,"  he  said  at  last,  "let  me  write  and 
tell  her  she  must  release  you." 

"You,  Father!"  said  Thorley.  The  father,  looking  up 
swiftly,  at  the  changed  voice,  saw  that  his  son  was  smiling 
steadily  and  lovingly  at  him.  "Who  taught  me  to  keep  my 
promises,  Dad  ?  "  said  the  young  man  softly. 

The  tears  came  into  John  Prescott's  eyes,  and  into  his 
mind  came  many  images  —  a  little,  black-haired,  stubborn 
boy  was  one  of  them,  and  a  lady  with  dark  ringlets  and  laugh- 
ing eyes,  and  a  man,  blue-eyed  and  brown-haired,  straight  as 
an  arrow  and  sure  as  an  archer  that  the  target  he  aimed  at 
was  the  only  right  one.  Yes,  he,  John  Prescott,  had  taught 
that  little  black-haired  boy  to  keep  his  promises ;  and  the 
lady  with  ringlets  had  helped  him.  John  Prescott  had  been 
effectually  silenced.  But  there  was  one  thing  more  that  he 
must  ask  his  son  before  he  went  his  way  down  the  mountain, 
and  presently  he  summoned  his  courage  to  ask  it. 

"Thor,"  he  said,  "what  are  you  going  to  do  about  the 
trip?" 

"Go  on  it,  of  course,"  said  Thorley,  promptly,  "and  you 
will  say  nothing  to  any  one  about  my  hesitation,  not  to  any 
one,  Father,  please." 


202  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Mr.  Prescott  looked  dreadfully  hurt;  but  he  answered 
with  great  dignity,  "I  should  not  think  of  mentioning  it, 
my  son." 

Thorley  went  ruthlessly  on.     "If  Mrs.  Prescott  — 

John  Prescott  held  up  his  hand.  "  That  will  do,  Thorley, ' ' 
he  said,  and  Thorley  became  in  an  instant  the  little  black- 
haired  boy,  stubborn,  but  amenable  to  discipline.  It  was 
many  a  long  day  since  he  had  heard  such  a  tone  in  his  father's 
voice. 

With  new  resolve,  Mr.  Prescott  went  on.  "Would  it  not 
be  safer  to  let  Miss  Stuart  know  of  your  engagement,  since 
she  is  to  be  so  intimately  associated  with  you  ?" 

"Why  safer  ?  I  hope  I  can  be  trusted  to  hold  my  tongue 
without  her  help." 

"But—" 

"Well,  what?" 

"Words  are  not  always  needed  to  call  out  an  answer  from 
the  heart  of  a  woman." 

"Wkitt" 

"She  might  find  herself  in  danger  — " 

"Stop,  Father,"  said  Thorley,  very  quietly,  "there  is  no 
danger  for  Jean  Stuart  in  my  love.  She,  thank  God,  is 
peerless.  How  could  I  hope  to  win  her,  even  if  I  worked 
with  all  my  might  ?  " 

"Stranger  things  have  happened,  Thor,"  said  Mr.  Pres- 
cott with  a  smile.  "She  might  do  worse  than  to  love  you, 
my  boy." 

"Don't  talk  like  that,"  cried  Thorley.  "Come,  we've 
said  enough.  Let's  go  down  to  the  factory." 

But  Mr.  Prescott  sent  for  his  horse  and  went  home.  Of 
his  thoughts  as  he  rode  away,  many  were  sad.  He  shook 
his  head  often  as  he  pondered  over  Thorley's  future ;  but 
around  his  mouth  there  lingered  a  little  smile  of  great  hap- 
piness, when  he  remembered  that  once  more,  his  Marty's 
little  Sammy  had  called  him  "Dad." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

POLITENESS  DEFERRED 

Miss  STUART  was  on  her  knees  packing  her  saddle-bags  for 
the  journey,  Mrs.  Lawrence  helping  her  with  muscle  and 
advice.  At  the  critical  moment,  when  a  pair  of  shoes  was 
threatening  to  crowd  out  a  looking-glass  and  a  bottle  of 
brandy,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Ruth  came  quietly 
in. 

"I'm  sorry  to  disturve  you,"  she  said  quaintly,  "but  Mr. 
Freyer  is  downstairs,  and  he  says  he  must  see  Miss  Stuart 
right  off  on  some  very  important  penvate  business."  Her 
eyes  dilated  when  she  came  to  the  word  private,  for  Ruth 
loved  a  secret  even  more  than  most  children. 

Miss  Stuart  looked  up,  rather  annoyed.  "Why  couldn't 
he  have  come  at  some  other  time?"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
suppose  he  wants  to  talk  about  Mary's  music,  and  it'll  take 
him  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  Go  down,  Ruthie,  please, 
and  tell  him  I'm  dreadfully  busy  packing,  and  I'm  not  fit  to 
be  seen,  and  ask  him  if  he  can't  come  back  in  an  hour." 

"But  Miss  Stuart,  he  said  it  was  important,  and  he  seems 
in  a  nawf ul  hurry.  /  think  you  look  very  nice,  and  I'll  help 
Mamma  finish  packing." 

Miss  Stuart  pulled  the  sides  of  the  saddle-bag  together 
with  an  ostentatious  groan  and  looked  up  under  her  eye- 
lashes to  see  what  the  Lawrences  thought  of  her  misbehavior. 
She  jerked  the  strap  through  the  buckle  while  Margaret 
pushed  on  the  bulging  contents  of  the  saddle-bag.  When 
the  tongue  had  skipped  into  its  hole,  Jean  rose  very  slowly 

203 


204  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

from  her  knees,  dusted  off  her  hands  and  the  front  of  her 
skirt,  and  looked  into  the  glass  to  see  what  had  become  of 
her  hair. 

"Ruth,"  she  said,  "you  may  tell  Mr.  Freyer  with  my 
compliments,  that  if  he  has  time  to  wait,  I'll  be  down  pres- 
ently." 

"Yes,  I  will,"  said  Ruth,  "and  then  shall  I  come  back  and 
help  you  ?  " 

Miss  Stuart  went  over  to  her  desk  and  began  in  a  leisurely 
way  to  fold  up  important-looking  documents  that  lay  scat- 
tered about.  "Well,  what  do  you  think,  my  lamb?"  she 
said,  half  shutting  her  eyes  as  she  surveyed  what  she  could 
of  the  not  immaculate  garments  she  was  wearing.  "Is  it 
worth  while  to  change  my  clothes,  or  shall  I  go  down  just  as 
I  am,  after  having  washed  my  hands,  perhaps,  as  a  sop  to 
Cerberus." 

"I  don't  know  who  that  is,"  said  Ruth,  very  solemnly, 
"but  I  should  think  Mr.  Freyer  might  be  s'prised  to  see  you 
with  your  hands  quite  so  dirty ;  and  now  I  look  at  it,  there's 
a  good  deal  of  dust  on  your  skirt  still,  but  I  think  I  could 
brush  it  off  for  you." 

Jean  gave  her  skirt  a  kick  and  squinted  under  her  arm  at 
the  back  of  it.  "It  is  shocking  !"  she  said.  "I  suppose  I 
may  as  well  change  into  something  decent.  Why  couldn't 
the  man  choose  some  other  time?" 

"I'll  go  down  and  entertain  him,"  said  Mrs.  Lawrence, 
"and  then  you  come  when  you  are  ready.  Let  Ruth  help 
you  all  she  can." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jean,  "don't  entertain  him  too  well, 
or  he'll  forget  what  he  has  to  tell  me." 

"No  danger  of  that,  I  wager,"  Mrs.  Lawrence  threw  back 
a  saucy  glance  at  her  guest  as  she  left  the  room. 

"Now  I  wonder  what  your  mother  means  by  that  ?"  said 
Miss  Stuart,  stepping  out  of  the  dusty  skirt  and  giving  it  a 
little  kick  as  she  glanced  around  the  room  littered  with  things 


POLITENESS    DEFERRED 

she  had  decided  not  to  take.  There  were  times  when  Jean 
Stuart  heartily  disliked  being  her  own  lady's  maid,  and  this 
was  one  of  them. 

"Whatever  Mamma  says,"  answered  Ruth,  picking  up 
the  skirt  and  laying  it  carefully  across  a  chair,  "I'm  always 
sure  she  means  something  polite.  I  sometimes  think,"  she 
added,  surveying  Miss  Stuart  with  her  head  on  one  side, 
"that  Mamma  is  a  little  politer  even  than  you." 

Miss  Stuart  threw  back  her  head  with  a  laugh  so  merry 
that  it  brought  Danny  running  to  knock  at  her  door. 

"I  heard  you  laugh,"  he  said,  when  admitted,  "and  I 
thought  I'd  come  and  see  what  the  fun  was.  What  you 
doing,  Ruth,  with  Miss  Stuart's  things?" 

"Helping  her  get  ready,"  said  Ruth,  proudly.  "Mr. 
Freyer  is  waiting  downstairs  to  see  her  on  very  important 
perc'vate  business." 

"Huh,"  said  Danny  decidedly.  "I  wouldn't  fix  up  much 
for  him.  He's  always  having  secrets ;  and  I  can't  see  that 
they  ever  amount  to  much." 

Miss  Stuart  stopped  scrubbing  her  hands  to  look  at  the 
child.  "What  makes  you  say  that,  Danny  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,"  said  Danny,  with  great  impatience,  "he's  always 
coming  here  to  talk  with  Papa,  and  he's  always  very  secret 
about  it  and  has  to  come  up  to  Papa's  study,  and  once  when 
he  had  been  here  a  long  time  —  and  Papa  was  very  busy,  too 
—  after  he  had  gone  away,  Papa  said  — "  Danny  paused 
to  lick  his  lips  with  the  keenest  relish  of  what  he  was  about 
to  impart ;  but  the  virtue  of  his  sister  had  come  to  the  fore, 
and  she  interrupted  him  relentlessly. 

"Danny,"  she  said,  "you  know  Mamma  doesn't  like  us 
to  tell  what  people  say.  You  ought  to  stop." 

"It's  all  right  to  do  it  when  a  grown-up  asks  you  ques- 
tions," said  Danny.  "  They  all  do  it  —  even  Mamma  when 
she  talks  in  a  whisper  to  Papa  and  doesn't  know  we  can  hear 
her." 


206  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

"  We-ell,  it  is  all  right  to  do  to  your  husband,"  said  Ruth. 
"Mamma  told  me  so  once;  but  she  doesn't  allow  even 
grown-ups  to  do  it  to  her,  hardly  at  all;  because  once  I 
heard  Uncle  Thorley  Prescott  begin  to  tell  something  that 
Mrs.  Whiting  had  said.  It  was  when  Mrs.  Whiting  had 
scolded  Miss  Wilcox  for  shaking  Sammy  when  Sammy  had 
made  her  spill  red  ink  on  her  new  dress  that  just  came  from 
America,  and  Uncle  Thor  talked  a  good  deal  about  it  one 
evening  — 

"He  hardly  ever  talks  much,"  interrupted  Danny. 

"Well,  that  evening  he  talked  a  lot,"  said  Ruth,  with 
emphasis,  "and  finely,  Mamma  told  him  not  to  cast  aspara- 
gus —  that  meant  to  stop,  I  guess ;  anyway  he  did  stop  just 
when  he  was  going  to  tell  what  Mrs.  Whiting  said  to  Miss 
Wilcox.  And  7  was  sorry,"  Ruth  finished,  with  a  frank 
regret  that  nearly  convulsed  Jean. 

"What  time  of  year  was  it?"  inquired  Danny,  judicially. 

"I  don't  remember.  —  Why,  Danny?  —  Oh,  yes  I  do. 
There  was  snow,  because  Uncle  Thor  had  been  taking  Miss 
Wilcox  in  a  sleigh,  and  there  was  plenty  of  room  but  they 
wouldn't  let  us  go ;  and  you  cried.  Don't  you  remember, 
Danny?" 

"There  was  snow,  was  there  ?"  said  Danny  triumphantly, 
he  being  so  intent  on  his  own  point  that  he  would  not  be 
allured,  even  into  this  enticing  side-track  of  ancient  griev- 
ance. "Then  if  there  was  snow,  there  couldn't  be  aspara- 
gus, because  that  only  grows  in  summer." 

"Danny  Lawrence,  that's  what  Mamma  said  to  him,  and 
I  guess  if  you  can't  believe  what  Mamma  says  — 

Ruth  stopped  in  horror,  as  if  that  were  a  point  beyond 
which  she  had  no  words  to  take  her. 

"Of  course  I  believe  her,"  said  Danny  complacently, 
"but  even  Mamma  makes  mistakes  sometimes.  Don't 
you  remember  last  week  about  my  cannon  that  she  said 
was  not  in  her  closet  and  it  was?  You  have  to  look  for 


POLITENESS    DEFERRED  207 

things  yourself  sometimes,  even  when  you  are  small,  and  I 
s'pose  you  have  to  do  the  same  in  later  life.  Isn't  that  so, 
Miss  Stuart?" 

None  of  them  had  accomplished  any  work  for  some  time, 
the  discussion  having  absorbed  them  all;  but  now  Miss 
Stuart  thought  best  to  call  back  the  general  attention  from 
philosophy  to  manual  labor. 

"It's  always  good  to  keep  your  eyes  open,  Danny,"  she 
replied.  ''Suppose  you  see  if  you  can  fish  out  the  mate  to 
this  side-comb  from  under  the  bureau." 

"Not  always,  Miss  Stuart,"  said  Danny  mischievously, 
11  you  don't  think  so  always." 

"Well,  not  at  bedtime,"  said  Miss  Stuart,  carelessly, 
"here,  take  this  umbrella  and  poke;  but  don't  break  the 
comb." 

Danny  did  as  he  was  told ;  but  after  a  cursory  and  ut- 
terly fruitless  brandishrhg  of  the  umbrella,  he  bobbed  up 
again  very  red  in  the  face,  and  far  more  eager  in  his  pursuit 
of  ideas  than  of  side-combs. 

"Miss  Stuart,"  he  persisted,  "do  you  mean  that  it's  al- 
ways good  to  keep  your  eyes  open  all  through  the  day  ?" 

"Why,  certainly,  Danny.  Why  do  you  ask  me  that  so 
many  times  ?  " 

Danny's  face  radiated  triumph.  "Then  how  about 
Sammy  Whiting,"  he  demanded,  "when  we're  saying  the 
Lord's  Prayer  in  school?" 

Miss  Stuart  threw  back  her  head  in  a  laugh  that  would 
have  brought  Danny  running  from  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  too ;  and  there  was  in 
both  their  voices  the  same  ring  of  invincible  merriment. 
Then  she  sat  down  and  opened  her  arms  to  him  and  he  ran 
into  them,  and  they  laughed  together  until  the  tears  ran 
down  both  their  faces.  Ruth  laughed  too ;  but  in  a  puz- 
zled way  that  showed  she  was  laughing  only  because  they 
did.  At  last  Miss  Stuart  loosened  her  hold  on  Danny  and 


208  THE    GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

began  to  wipe  her  eyes.  He  groped  for  his  handkerchief 
but  stopped  groping  suddenly  to  hug  her  and  to  say  in  his 
most  affectionate  tones :  — 

"Oh,  Miss  Stuart,  I  do  love  you  !  You  are  funny  your- 
self and  you  laugh  at  my  fun.  I  wish  you  were  my  aunt  or 
at  least  my  mother-in-law  ! " 

This  sent  Miss  Stuart  off  again,  while  Ruth  said  gravely, 
"Why,  Danny,  you  have  to  be  married  to  have  a  mother- 
in-law!" 

"Do  you?"  said  Danny.  "Well,  I  don't  want  to  wait 
until  then.  Why  can't  you  be  our  aunt  now  ?  Aunt  Kate 
is,  and  so  is  Uncle  Thorley." 

Ruth  set  up  a  shout  at  this;  and  they  all  laughed 
together  until  Mrs.  Lawrence  appeared  at  the  door,  inquiring 
with  a  twinkle  in  her  eyes  whether  the  children  were  not 
hindering  Miss  Stuart. 

Jean  rose,  wiped  her  eyes  again,  and  meekly  hooked  up 
her  collar. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Lawrence,"  she  said,  making  for  the  stairs  with- 
out even  stopping  to  look  in  the  glass,  "if  only  I  could  be  as 
polite  as  you  are  !" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

MISS   STUART  DISPOSES 

WHEN  at  last  Jean  Stuart  entered  the  sitting-room,  Mr. 
Freyer  was  standing  over  by  the  piano  nervously  fingering 
some  music  that  stood  on  the  rack.  This  confirmed  Jean 
in  her  idea  that  he  had  come  to  talk  about  Mary's  music ; 
and  as  soon  as  she  had  greeted  him,  she  began  to  tell  him 
how  much  Mary  was  improving  in  her  playing  and  what 
a  good  voice  she  was  likely  to  have,  if  she  took  care  not  to 
strain  it  now. 

To  her  surprise,  Mr.  Freyer's  reply  was  rather  impatient. 
"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "that  is  all  very  gratifying,"  at  this 
point  he  made  a  stiff  bow,  "and  many  thanks  are  due  for 
your  helpful  interest  in  Mary,  but  I  had  come  here  with 
my  mind  made  up  to  talk  with  you  very  seriously  on  an- 
other subject.  May  I  ask  for  a  few  moments  of  your  best 
attention?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Jean,  considerably  mystified  by  his  be- 
havior. It  had  some  of  the  signs  preliminary  to  a  proposal 
of  marriage ;  but  Mr.  Freyer  had  only  a  day  or  two  before 
this,  honored  Jean  through  the  better  part  of  an  evening, 
with  a  disquisition  on  the  qualities  essential  to  a  missionary's 
wife;  and  having  found  herself  deficient  in  every  one  of 
these  qualities,  with  the  possible  exception  of  a  cheerful 
temper,  she  could  not  now  believe  that  he  had  so  far  lost 
sight  of  his  ideals  as  to  have  chosen  her  for  his  wife. 

So  she  looked  at  him  with  wide-open  gray  eyes  from  which 
the  laughter  had  not  entirely  disappeared,  and  settled  her- 
self with  some  deliberation  in  the  chair  he  placed  for  her. 
p  209 


2IO  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Mr.  Freyer,  not  forgetful  of  his  coat  tails,  even  at  this 
evidently  crucial  moment,  seated  himself  opposite  Jean, 
and  with  great  solemnity  cleared  his  throat. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said  in  his  best  pulpit  voice, 
and  as  he  said  it,  he  leaned  forward  and  possessed  himself 
reverently  but  firmly  of  Jean's  hand. 

"Good  heavens!"  thought  Miss  Stuart,  "the  man  is 
going  to  propose,  and  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Now  Miss  Stuart  of  New  York,  Lakewood,  and  Bar  Har- 
bor had  dealt  in  the  course  of  the  last  decade  with  more 
than  one  proposal  of  marriage.  She  was  not  the  woman  to 
lead  a  man  on  deliberately  to  his  undoing ;  nor  was  she  the 
one  to  deny  herself  the  incense  of  a  certain  amount  of  homage 
when  she  was  reasonably  sure  that  the  paying  of  it  would 
not  permanently  injure  the  worshipper.  To  her,  the  pre- 
liminaries to  marriage  had  come  to  seem  like  a  game.  You 
made  your  way  peacefully  toward  your  own  goal  until  some- 
body came  and  gave  the  ball  a  whack  in  the  other  direction. 
You  got  the  ball  back  if  you  could.  If  not,  you  had  to  let 
your  enemy  keep  it  and  win  the  game ;  but  it  was  not  your 
fault  if,  while  you  were  winning,  the  adversary  fell  off  his 
horse  and  smashed  a  bone  or  two.  Jean  Stuart  remembered 
a  number  of  riders  who  had  come  to  grief  and  croppers  in 
her  field.  The  accident  had  never  been  fatal  nor  even  dis- 
figuring to  any  one  of  them ;  and  in  a  little  more  than  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  she  had  very  soon  enjoyed  the  ironic  privi- 
lege of  seeing  those  same  riders  busily  at  play  again  in  some 
one's  else  field ! 

Now  Jean  had  no  reason  to  think  that  the  rigor  of  the 
game  would  be  more  injurious  to  Mr.  Freyer  than  it  had 
been  in  the  past  to  her  other  opponents.  And  yet  it  gave 
her  a  very  unpleasant  feeling  when  she  saw  his  mallet  swing- 
ing toward  her  ball.  Perhaps  she  was  only  out  of  training. 
Perhaps  her  ideas  of  sport  had  changed  a  little  in  the  past 
few  months.  At  any  rate  she  exerted  herself  to  do  some 


MISS   STUART   DISPOSES  211 

very  rapid  thinking  while  his  hand  reached  out  to  take 
hers. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  repeated  and  cleared  his 
throat  again. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Freyer,  I  know  what  you  have  come  for,  and 
I  don't  intend  that  you  shall  say  a  word  about  it  to-day. 
I'm  not  at  all  in  the  mood." 

Mr.  Fjeyer's  mouth,  which  had  been  open  to  speak,  stayed 
open  until  Jean  had  finished.  Then  it  closed  while  Mr. 
Freyer  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"But,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  began  again,  and  Jean, 
having  taken  advantage  of  his  amazement  to  draw  away 
her  hand,  saw  that  it  would  be  safe  now  to  let  him  go  on  for 
a  sentence  or  two. 

"How  is  it  possible,"  he  continued,  "for  you  to  know  what 
I  have  to  say  ?  I  made  up  my  mind  last  night  only  after 
much  prayer  that  I  would  speak  conditionally  to  you.  I 
have  not  given  you  that  warning,  I  know,  to  which  the  deli- 
cate sensibilities  of  a  lady  are  entitled ;  but  you  were  going 
away,  and  I  wished  before  your  departure  to  lodge  in  your 
mind  a  thought  which  might  bear  fruit  against  your  return." 

"Yes,  I  know,  Mr.  Freyer,"  said  Jean,  "your  wishes  for 
my  welfare  are  exceedingly  kind.  Let  me  say  once  for  all 
that  I  thank  you  sincerely." 

Mr.  Freyer  deprecatingly  held  up  both  hands.  To  have 
the  words  taken  out  of  his  mouth  in  this  way  was  almost 
more  than  the  little  man  could  bear.  He  felt  that  Miss 
Stuart  was  not  showing  quite  the  delicacy  of  mind  for  which 
he  had  given  her  credit ;  and  he  began  to  be  really  irritated 
when  she  went  on  after  her  sincere  thanks  without  giving 
him  a  chance  to  put  in  a  word. 

"But,"  Jean  Stuart  continued,  and  as  she  said  the  words 
she  could  not  help  feeling  that  they  were  a  master-stroke, 
"but  I  am  sure  that  my  mind  is  not  the  soil  in  which  your 
religious  counsels  are  most  likely  to  flourish." 


212  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"That  may  be,"  said  Mr.  Freyer,  seriously,  "that  may 
be  unfortunately  only  too  true,  but,"  he  paused  long  enough 
to  possess  himself  again  of  her  hand,  and  she,  very  much 
bewildered  at  having  apparently  helped  rather  than  hin- 
dered his  cause,  let  it  lie  for  a  moment  in  his,  "but  I  am 
willing  to  take  the  risk  that  the  work  of  grace  which  has  in- 
clined you  to  help  our  Cause  by  material  agencies,  will  at 
last  so  work  in  your  heart  that  you  will  be  fitted  for  the 
spiritual  labors  and  joys  of  a  missionary's  — 

Jean  Stuart  snatched  her  hand  away  and  cut  off  his  con- 
clusion so  promptly  that  she  never  knew  whether  he  intended 
to  say  "life"  or  "wife." 

"Mr.  Freyer,"  she  exclaimed  impatiently,  "excuse  my 
interrupting  you,  but  I  cannot  tell  you  too  promptly  or  too 
conclusively  that  I  have  no  desire  to  fit  myself  for  anything 
that  begins  or  ends  with  the  word  missionary.  What  I 
have  done  for  the  people  here  has  been  done  entirely  for 
the  purpose  of  relieving  and  pleasing  myself.  When  I  go 
away,  I  shall  take  pains  to  forget  the  misery  of  Moham- 
medans, Nestorians,  and  Kurds  as  fast  as  ever  I  can.  And 
before  so  very  long  I  shall  be  going  away." 

"I  had  hoped,"  said  Mr.  Freyer,  doubtfully. 

"Yes,"  said  Jean,  "I  know  that  more  than  one  of  you 
had  hoped  that  I  would  come  around  to  your  way  of  think- 
ing. To  you  it  is  the  only  way.  I  am  of  a  different  mind. 
I  have  my  own  opinions,  which  I  change  only  for  reasons 
that  seem  to  me  valid.  But  I  have  also  a  great  respect 
for  the  opinions  of  others.  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  say 
against  what  you  believe.  I  have  never  engaged  with  any 
of  you  in  controversy  or  argument.  May  I  ask  that  you 
will  extend  to  me  the  same  courtesy?" 

"But,  Miss  Stuart,"  protested  Mr.  Freyer,  completely 
thrown  off  his  train  of  thought,  "we  consider  it  our  duty  as 
Christians  to  influence  the  religious  life  of  those  about  us." 

"The  religious  life"  said  Jean,  more  quietly,  "ah,  that  is 


MISS   STUART   DISPOSES  213 

a  different  matter,  is  it  not  ?  Some  of  you  are  bringing  in- 
fluence to  bear  on  lives  all  the  time  by  the  way  you  live  your 
own  lives ;  and  in  the  end  I  suppose  that  changed  lives  make 
changed  opinions ;  but  let  me  warn  you  again,  please,  in  all 
courtesy,  that  neither  my  life  nor  my  opinions  will  ever  be 
changed  by  argument." 

"But  I  didn't  come  here  to  argue,"  said  Mr.  Freyer  feebly. 
"I  came  because  —  because  — 

"  Because  you  wished  to  give  me  a  pleasant  thought  to 
carry  away  on  my  journey,"  said  Jean,  very  sweetly,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  to  him,  "and  I  shall  think  very  happily, 
if  you  will  allow  me,  that  I  have  left  behind  me  a  good  friend 
in  Mr.  Freyer ;  and  now  I  am  so  glad  to  have  this  chance 
of  talking  with  you  about  Mary's  music."  She  withdrew 
her  hand  again  and  entered  into  an  eminently  practical 
discussion  of  piano  method  and  voice  culture,  wherein  Mr. 
Freyer  found  himself  taking  part  apparently  without  voli- 
tion. When  at  last  he  bethought  himself  that  it  was  high 
time  for  him  to  be  riding  back  to  the  College,  he  tried  to 
infuse  into  his  farewell  some  of  the  intention  with  which 
his  call  had  begun.  But  some  power  not  his  own,  mysteri- 
ously prevented  his  appearing  in  relation  to  Miss  Stuart 
like  anything  more  interesting  than  an  elderly  friend  and 
the  father  of  a  promising  pupil. 

"However,"  thought  Mr.  Freyer,  as  he  betook  himself 
to  the  College,  "it  is  perhaps  fortunate  that  I  did  not  com- 
mit myself  even  to  a  conditional  proposition ;  for  it  is  evi- 
dent from  all  she  said  that  she  is  not  yet  in  a  frame  of  mind 
to  embrace  the  essential  doctrines.  And  for  a  missionary's 
wife  -  Mr.  Freyer  shook  his  head  sadly.  Then  there 
returned  to  his  mind  the  picture  of  Jean  holding  out  her 
hand  and  calling  him  friend ;  and  the  heart  of  the  little  man 
gave  a  thump  which  his  conscience  made  haste  to  rebuke. 

"If  she  will  not  believe,"  said  Conscience  to  Heart,  "she  is 
the  enemy  to  your  soul ;  and  you  have  no  right  to  love  her." 


214  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

But  Heart,  even  in  the  little  preacher,  got  the  last  word. 

"Even  so,"  said  Heart, valiantly,  "we  are  commanded  to 
love  our  enemies." 

And  then  perhaps  it  was  Mind  that  added  sotto  wee, 
"But  really,  it  is  very  strange,  that  with  all  my  efforts,  I 
could  not  seem  to  tell  her  so." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

AMONG  THE  PROPHETS 

BY  four  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  Wednesday,  March 
2nd,  the  Lawrence  household  was  astir ;  and  it  was  not  yet 
six  o'clock  when  a  party  on  horseback  left  the  gate  of  the 
city  Compound.  Miss  Stuart  was  attended  by  her  own 
hostler;  Dan  Lawrence  had  with  him  his  faithful  servant, 
Hilgar ;  and  Mr.  John  Prescott  was  riding  out  with  them 
to  meet  his  son  and  "pour  him  on  the  road"  as  the  Persian 
idiom  has  it.  Roger  Standish  would  have  been  glad  to  go 
as  far  as  Mr.  Prescott ;  but  when  in  the  course  of  his  fare- 
well call  he  mentioned  this  desire  to  Miss  Stuart,  the  dis- 
couragement he  received  was  both  decided  and  unflatter- 
ing. The  boy  went  to  bed  thanking  his  stars  that  there 
was  at  least  one  girl  in  the  Mission  whose  hair  was  not  red ; 
and  he  woke  up  in  the  morning  just  long  enough  to  turn 
over  in  his  warm  bed  with  a  feeling  of  comfortable  resent- 
ment against  the  cavalcade  which  he  heard  riding  out  of 
the  Compound. 

They  stopped  at  the  College  to  pick  up  Dr.  MacColl  and 
her  servant.  Thorley  Prescott,  who  met  them  on  the  road 
to  the  river,  brought  up  the  last  reinforcements  in  the  per- 
sons of  the  Kurdish  Chief  and  two  younger  Kurds,  one  of 
whom  was  to  act  as  cook  and  the  other  as  commissary. 
Three  mules,  carrying  tents,  bedding,  cooking  utensils, 
and  food,  were  driven  along  by  the  servants.  As  Miss 
Stuart  heard  the  cries  of  the  mule-drivers  and  looked  back 
at  the  caravan,  she  thought  it  rather  an  important  escort. 
For,  owing  to  the  wildness  of  the  country  into  which  they 

215 


2l6  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

were  going,  it  had  been  thought  best  that  the  party  should 
be  large  enough  to  command  respect. 

Jean  Stuart  was  glad  of  something  to  attract  her  outward 
attention;  for,  to  her  great  disgust,  she  found  herself  not 
in  possession  of  her  usual  inner  poise.  In  fact,  it  had  made 
her  very  angry  that  her  heart  began  beating  ever  so  much 
faster  the  minute  she  caught  sight  of  Thorley  Prescott  rid- 
ing toward  her  on  the  Fiend.  And  when  he  had  come  up 
to  shake  hands  with  her,  she  had  pretended  that  Lord 
Chesterton  would  not  stand  still  long  enough. 

"Chesty  as  ever,  isn't  he  ?"  said  Thorley,  eying  the  horse 
and  his  rider  with  an  approbation  which  he  did  not  try  to 
hide.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  that  since  he  had  been 
obliged  to  take  this  journey,  he  would  enjoy  it  to  the  full, 
not  allowing  his  pleasure  to  be  marred  by  thoughts  of  the 
future.  There  could  be  no  evil  results,  he  had  concluded, 
except  a  little  additional  suffering  which  he  was  strong 
enough,  surely,  to  bear  without  wincing.  And  now  his 
heart  beat  high  at  the  sight  of  Jean  Stuart  and  at  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  would  be  near  him  day  and  night  for  two  long, 
glorious  weeks.  She,  however,  made  an  excuse  to  send  him 
away  for  a  moment ;  and  when  he  came  back,  she  was  rid- 
ing between  Dan  Lawrence  and  Dr.  MacColl.  Her  anger 
at  herself  had  abated  as  soon  as  she  heard  the  perfectly  nat- 
ural tone  in  which  she  answered  Thorley's  greeting.  Per- 
haps, also,  the  homage  of  his  eyes  had  helped  to  appease  her 
mortification.  But  she  had  no  intention  of  letting  him 
think  that  the  place  at  her  right  hand  was  one  to  be  easily 
secured.  She  wondered  for  an  instant  whether  it  could  be 
disappointment  that  she  felt  when  he  fell  behind  very  cheer- 
fully to  ride  with  his  father ;  and  she  made  haste  to  conclude 
that  it  could  not  be  anything  so  foolish. 

Dan  Lawrence  was  speaking.  "I  suppose  the  country 
through  which  we  are  to  pass,  looks  about  as  it  did  in  the 
days  of  Xenophon,  and  I  doubt  whether  its  inhabitants  have 


AMONG   THE  PROPHETS  217 

progressed  very  much  since  then.  Some  few  of  them  cling 
to  a  form  of  nominal  Christianity,  others  think  they  are 
Moslems;  but  there  are  a  good  many  of  the  old  fire- wor- 
shippers and  plenty  of  tribes  that  can't  be  called  anything 
but  Pagans.  As  for  civilization,  they  live  exactly  as  their 
forefathers  did  in  the  days  —  I  was  going  to  say  —  of  Noah  ! 
I  can't  see  that  they  have  made  any  changes  in  their  ways 
of  dressing,  eating,  tenting,  tilling  the  soil,  or  fighting,  except 
that  now  and  then  one  of  the  chiefs  has  gotten  hold  of  an 
old  blunderbuss  or  flintlock.  That  man  is  a  king,  I  assure 
you." 

"It's  hard  to  believe,"  said  Jean  Stuart,  with  a  great  show 
of  interest,  "that  any  part  of  the  world  can  be  so  backward. 
Don't  you  suppose  that  some  day  there  will  be  a  great  and 
sudden  change  ?  " 

"In  Persia,  yes,"  said  Dan,  "but  not  very  readily  in  the 
minds  of  these  mountain  races.  Some  day  before  so  very 
many  years  have  passed,  Persia  will  come  back  into  history. 
For  many  years  now,  she  has  been  tacitly  ignored  while 
Russia  has  been  working  quietly  to  gain  an  overwhelming 
interest,  and  England  has  seen  to  it  just  as  quietly  that  the 
overland  route  to  India  is  not  endangered.  Germany,  too, 
has  her  eye  on  building  railroads ;  and  little  Belgium  has 
more  than  one  finger  in  the  pie  by  means  of  the  telegraph 
system  which  she  controls.  Some  day  it  will  be  worth  while 
for  one  or  more  of  these  nations  to  see  that  Persia  wakes 
up;  and  some  day  the  Persians  themselves  will  wake  up 
and  want  for  themselves  and  their  children  the  things  that 
other  nations  have." 

"We're  helping  them  toward  that  day,"  said  Dr.  MacColl 
energetically,  "just  as  fast  as  we  can."  She  prodded  her 
horse  as  if  he  were  a  Persian  whom  she  was  forcing  into  the 
van  of  progress. 

"You  !"  said  Jean  Stuart.  "I  didn't  know  that  you  had 
any  political  aspirations." 


2l8  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Not  for  ourselves,"  said  Dan,  quickly.  "Don't  mistake 
us  in  this.  Only  that  when  the  time  comes  for  the  great 
change,  we  hope  there  will  have  been  a  leaven  working 
among  the  people,  giving  some  of  them,  at  any  rate,  sane 
ideas  of  political  freedom  and  its  responsibilities,  industrial 
freedom  and  its  opportunities,  freedom  of  the  press  and  edu- 
cation; and  I  do  believe,"  he  added,  "that  a  few,  even  of 
the  men  in  power,  will  have  some  notion  of  the  motives  that 
make  a  man  work  for  others  rather  than  for  himself." 

"Your  hopes  are  high,"  remarked  Jean. 

"Surely,"  answered  Dan.  "Could  we  have  lived  so 
happily  in  Persia  all  these  years  without  hope  ?  " 

They  stopped  for  lunch  near  a  village  whose  inhabitants 
promptly  gathered  themselves  in  an  eager  and  inconvenient 
ring  around  the  foreigners.  Word  got  about  that  one  of 
the  party  was  a  Hakim ;  whereupon  all  sore  eyes,  mutilated 
limbs  and  other  infirmities  capable  of  display  were  immedi- 
ately presented  to  public  view.  The  sight  of  them  made 
Jean  Stuart  sick.  She  turned  away  in  disgust  and  walked 
to  a  little  distance,  while  the  doctor  and  Dan  Lawrence  got 
out  their  medicine  cases  and  began  to  grapple  as  well  as  they 
could  with  the  problems  before  them.  Mr.  John  Prescott 
stayed  a  little  while  to  help  them ;  but  it  was  necessary  for 
him  to  leave  soon  in  order  to  reach  the  city  before  nightfall. 

After  Thorley  had  seen  his  father  started,  he  went  over 
to  Jean.  She,  wrapped  in  a  fur-lined  cloak,  was  sitting 
huddled  up  on  a  heap  of  saddle-bags.  Her  hostler  was  try- 
ing to  keep  the  village  children  at  a  respectful  distance; 
and  she,  in  limited,  but  forcible  Turkish,  was  urging  him 
to  his  work.  Jean  was  rather  tired  and  rather  cold  and, 
it  must  be  admitted,  very  cross. 

"I  thought  we  were  going  to  escape  Missions,"  she  re- 
marked, as  Thorley  came  up,  "for  two  entire  weeks;  and 
here,"  she  pointed  over  her  shoulder  toward  the  outdoor 
dispensary,  "we  are  at  'em  again  worse  than  ever." 


AMONG   THE   PROPHETS  219 

"We?"  said  Thorley,  seating  himself,  cross-legged  on 
the  ground  at  her  feet.  He  looked  quizzically  at  Jean  and 
then  at  her  hostler,  who  was  laying  about  him  rather  vigor- 
ously with  the  flat  of  a  frying-pan.  "We'll  have  Dan  Law- 
rence down  on  us  in  a  minute,  if  we  let  that  chap  lamm  those 
children." 

In  Turkish  he  commanded  the  hostler  to  stop,  and  in  a 
mixture  of  languages  he  persuaded  the  children  to  sit  down 
where  they  were,  so  that  he  might  tell  them  a  story. 

"If  you'll  let  me," he  said  to  Jean,  while  the  children  were 
struggling  for  a  place  in  the  front  rank,  "I'll  talk  to  them, 
and  then  they'll  be  glad  enough  to  go  away." 

The  story  was  told  in  Syriac;  and  the  children  listened 
with  their  mouths  and  eyes  wide  open.  Thorley  illustrated 
his  remarks  by  means  of  certain  treasures  which  he  took 
from  his  pockets.  When  he  had  finished  speaking,  the 
treasures  were  awarded  to  the  best  listeners;  after  which 
he  sent  the  children  away,  and  they  retreated  to  long-range 
staring  distance. 

"I  didn't  know  you  could  do  that  sort  of  thing,"  said 
Jean.  "I  suppose  you  told  them  a  Bible  story." 

Thorley  threw  his  head  back  and  treated  himself  to  a  good 
long  look  at  her.  " I  believe  you're  cross,"  he  remarked  with 
great  relish.  "It's  the  first  time  I've  ever  seen  you  so. 
Tell  me,  has  the  winter  played  the  mischief  with  your 
temper  ?  " 

"You  certainly  have  not  helped  to  make  it  less  dull  for 
me."  Jean  could  have  bitten  her  tongue  out  the  moment 
the  words  were  said. 

Thorley  wagged  his  head  in  an  abandon  of  mischievous 
glee.  "I  bet  it's  been  dull,"  he  assented. 

"Aren't  you  sorry?"  asked  Jean,  recovering  a  fragment 
of  her  temper. 

"Awfully!"  declared  Thorley.  "But  I  can't  see  that 
the  dullness  has  impaired  your  health  or  — "  He  was  look- 


220  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

ing  at  her  very  eloquently  all  the  time,  but  here  he 
stopped. 

"Or  what?"  she  demanded. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  suddenly,  "you're  cold.  Get  on 
your  horse,  and  we'll  take  a  gallop."  He  put  out  his  hand 
to  help  her  up,  and  noticed  with  compunction  that  she  was 
almost  too  stiff  to  stand. 

"Jean,"  cried  Dr.  MacColl,  "come  over  here  and  help 
me  a  minute." 

"Please  go  and  find  out  what  she  wants,"  said  Jean  to 
Thorley.  "I  can't  look  at  those  sick  people." 

"She  wants  you  to  hold  a  girl's  head  while  she  attends  to 
an  abscess  under  her  eye." 

"Can't  Mr.  Lawrence—  "  began  Jean. 

"The  girl  is  a  Moslem  and  they  won't  let  him  come  near 
her." 

"Oh—" 

"Come  on.  It's  all  right.  I  told  Dr.  MacColl  you 
were  going  to  ride  with  me;  and  she  thinks  it's  all  my 
fault." 

"Will  it  help  the  girl  much?" 

"Why,  yes.  Doctor  thinks  it  may  save  the  eye,  if  she 
can  make  them  understand  about  keeping  the  bandage  wet 
with  antiseptic." 

"And  she  wants  me  to  hold  the  girl  ?" 

"Yes;  but  I  guess  she'll  manage  without  you.  The 
mother  looks  as  if  she  had  a  little  sense." 

Jean  Stuart  walked  quickly  over  to  Dr.  MacColl.  "Here 
I  am,  Doctor,"  she  said.  "Where  do  you  want  me?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Jean,"  said  the  doctor,  swiftly  bandaging  a  sore 
that  had  been  running  for  over  a  year,  "that's  the  girl  over 
there  in  the  green  headdress.  Get  her  to  lie  down  on  that 
rubber  blanket  behind  the  tent-cloth  and  see  that  her  face 
is  moderately  clean  near  the  abscess  —  but  don't  touch 
that.  Dan  will  give  you  a  damp  cloth." 


AMONG    THE   PROPHETS  221 

"Heaven  help  me  !"  thought  Jean ;  and  she  went  meekly 
to  work. 

"There  !"  exclaimed  the  doctor  half  an  hour  later,  "that's 
the  last  case  we  can  possibly  do,  if  we  are  to  reach  Bagharan 
before  dark.  Well,  I  believe  we've  cleaned  up  everything  we 
could  really  help  in  one  treatment.  The  man  with  cataract 
and  the  woman  with  hip  disease  must  go  to  the  hospital ; 
and  I  think  their  friends  will  take  them.  It's  been  a  pretty 
good  job  for  a  snap  shot.  And  you,  Jean  Stuart,  are  a 
very  capable  assistant.  I  shall  have  use  for  you  again." 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  muttered  Jean,  hunting  desperately 
for  a  place  where  she  might  be  alone.  She  was  missing  when 
the  rest  of  the  party  were  ready  to  mount ;  and  though  she 
turned  up  in  answer  to  vigorous  shouting,  her  face  was  still 
very  white.  Dan  Lawrence  gave  her  a  shrewd  look  as  he 
helped  her  into  the  saddle. 

"Do  you  want  us  to  wait  until  you  feel  better  ?"  he  asked 
her  under  cover  of  tightening  her  girths. 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  answered,  "it's  nothing." 

"I  know,"  he  smiled  sympathetically  at  her.  "I  suffered 
that  kind  of  nothing  myself  a  good  many  times  when  I  first 
came  back  here.  Let  me  know  if  you  want  to  stop  at  any 
time." 

But  Thorley  Prescott  nosed  the  Fiend  resolutely  into  the 
place  beside  Lord  Chesterton.  "Now  you  may  say  we,  if 
you  like,"  he  conceded  in  a  tone  that  brought  the  color 
tingling  back  into  her  cheeks.  "I  myself  went  so  far  as  to 
tie  up  the  stump  of  a  finger." 

"That's  nothing  to  telling  a  Bible  story,"  she  retorted. 
"I  haven't  yet  come  to  that." 

"No,  but  you  will,"  he  prophesied.  "I  expect  to  see 
the  day  when  you'll  find  it  as  hard  to  swear  off  from  mis- 
sionary work  as  Dan  himself." 

"If  ever  I  am  a  missionary,"  she  retorted,  "I'll  be  that 
kind." 


222  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"You'd  better  be,"  he  answered.  "It's  the  only  kind 
that's  any  good,"  but  he  said  it  without  a  touch  of  his  old 
bitterness;  and  Dan,  riding  just  ahead  of  him,  thanked 
God  and  took  courage  at  the  new  ring  in  the  voice  of  his 
friend. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

EXPLANATIONS  ASKED 

THE  next  day  the  party  turned  the  corner  of  Lake  Mu- 
ramna,  and  proceeding  southward  along  the  western  shore, 
entered  a  region  where  the  villages  were  few  and  far  between. 
They  travelled  at  a  good  speed  because  Dan  Lawrence 
wished  to  reach  Suj  Anak  before  Sunday,  that  he  might 
hold  a  preaching  service  in  the  old  Nestorian  Church.  He 
had  offered  to  push  on  by  himself,  leaving  his  companions 
to  proceed  in  a  more  leisurely  way.  He  thought  it  too  much 
to  ask  of  Miss  Stuart  that  she  should  rise  at  four  in  the  bitter 
cold  of  an  early  spring  morning  and  ride  until  dark  with 
only  two  pauses :  a  miserly  one  for  lunch,  and  another 
shorter  one  for  afternoon  tea.  But  Jean  insisted  that  she 
was  perfectly  able  to  do  as  the  others  did  and  that  she  pre- 
ferred Mr.  Lawrence's  companionship  above  even  the  bliss 
of  an  extra  hour's  morning  sleep. 

"And  the  faster  we  travel,"  said  Thorley  Prescott,  "the 
fewer  hospitals  we  can  set  up  by  the  way." 

Jean  had  hard  work  pretending  not  to  hear  him.  It  was 
uncanny  to  ride  along  hour  after  hour  beside  a  man  who 
could  so  often  read  her  thoughts.  "Perhaps  other  people 
have  read  them,"  she  told  herself,  "but  no  one  has  ever 
had  the  cheek  to  report  them  to  me.  I  wonder  how  he 
would  like  it,  if  I  told  him  in  so  many  words  what  he  is 
thinking!" 

'For  the  predominant  thoughts  of  the  younger  Prescott 
on  this  journey  were  by  no  means  hidden  from  his  compan- 

223 


224  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

ions.  If  Dr.  MacColl  found  reason  for  confiding  to  Dan 
Lawrence  that  "it  was  a  clear  case  on  one  side,  at  least," 
it  may  be  presumed  that  Jean  Stuart  herself  had  an  inkling 
of  Thorley  Prescott's  feeling  for  her,  a  feeling  which  he 
flattered  himself  would  remain  forever  unexpressed. 

A  man  who  never  consulted  a  mirror  except  while  shaving, 
was  not  likely  to  have  a  notion  of  the  tales  his  eyes  were 
telling  whenever  they  rested  on  Jean  Stuart's  face.  Nor 
was  it  strange,  perhaps,  that  when  he  spoke  to  her,  he  was 
not  listening  to  the  tones  of  his  own  voice.  He  thought  it 
only  right  to  offer  her  a  number  of  little  services  which  he 
had  never  dreamed  of  doing  for  any  one  else,  and  he  was 
likely  to  make  an  open  fuss  if  Dan  persisted  in  taking  the 
place  at  her  side,  which  he  had  marked  for  his  own.  If  he 
had  been  told  that  every  member  of  the  party  down  to  the 
most  stupid  of  the  donkey-boys  was  well  acquainted  with 
his  plight,  his  first  thought  would  have  been  to  blame  his 
father  for  telling  them. 

But  Jean  did  not  divine  this  ostrich-like  attitude  on  the 
part  of  her  lover.  She  supposed  that  he  was  reckless  of 
appearances  because  he  intended  to  win  her  and  did  not  care 
who  knew  it.  In  the  first  few  days  of  the  journey,  she  had 
laughed  up  her  sleeve  more  than  once  over  his  consummate 
audacity.  She  remembered  that  his  behavior  about  Christ- 
mas time  had  caused  her  to  wonder  then  whether  he  were 
getting  ready  to  fall  in  love  with  her.  It  seemed  strange 
now  that  he  should  have  kept  away  from  her  so  carefully 
all  winter.  For  she  could  not  doubt  that  something  more 
than  accident  had  thrown  them  so  often  together  and  then 
kept  them  so  suddenly  and  so  completely  apart.  She  sup- 
posed he  must  have  judged  it  useless  to  ask  her  to  share  his 
life  as  a  missionary.  And  she  knew  he  would  not  break 
his  promise  to  his  mother,  even  for  her.  The  only  conclusion 
she  could  draw  was  that  his  renewed  association  with  her 
had  been  too  much  for  his  common  sense  and  that  he  was 


EXPLANATIONS   ASKED  22$ 

now  expecting  the  miracle  of  his  love  to  change  her,  Jean 
Stuart  of  New  York  and  Bar  Harbor,  into  a  Persia  mis- 
sionary. 

The  impulse  however  which  had  made  her  so  ready  to 
save  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Freyer  when  he  was  bent  on  the 
same  kind  of  folly,  was  lacking  in  the  case  of  Thorley  Pres- 
cott.  She  knew  in  the  first  place  that  if  Thorley  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  declare  his  love,  nothing  she  could  do  would 
have  power  to  stop  him.  She  did  not  perhaps  admit  that 
she  really  preferred  not  to  stop  him,  but  she  did  catch  her- 
self looking  forward  now  and  then  with  a  sort  of  fearful  rel- 
ish to  the  moment  when  she  should  get  a  chance  to  baffle 
him  by  means  of  a  plump  and  flat-footed  NO. 

In  the  meantime  she  gave  herself  up  moment  by  moment 
to  a  keen  enjoyment  of  the  situation.  Here  she  was,  on 
her  favorite  horse,  riding  all  day  long  in  an  atmosphere  so 
clear  and  pure  that  it  intoxicated  her.  Wherever  she  looked, 
her  eye  rested  on  scenes  of  rugged  beauty ;  and  of  her  three 
travelling  companions,  every  one  was  peculiarly  congenial 
to  her.  All  this  was  quite  enough,  considering  the  tedium 
she  had  just  been  enduring,  to  account  for  an  exhilaration 
of  spirits  which  made  the  long  days  of  riding  almost  too 
short.  There  was  no  reason  to  think  that  her  enjoyment 
was  due  to  the  presence  or  to  the  attitude  of  any  one  person. 
So  Jean  Stuart  assured  herself  more  than  once.  And  the 
very  fact  that  she  did  so  assure  herself,  might  have  given 
cause  for  anxiety  to,  let  us  say,  her  Aunt  Cordelia. 

Dan  Lawrence  saw  no  cause  for  anxiety.  He  was  glad 
of  what  he  saw,  glad  to  the  point  of  hugging  himself  as  he 
rode  along  behind  Jean  and  Thorley.  So  far  this  had  been 
a  very  happy  journey  for  Dan.  He  had  left  Margaret  and 
the  children  well;  he,  too,  enjoyed  the  change  from  the 
constraint  of  city  life ;  and  if  only  Margaret  could  have  been 
with  him,  he  would  have  liked  nothing  better  than  those  long 
free  days  in  the  open  air.  There  was  a  little  of  the  Oriental  in 
Q 


226  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

Dan ;  he  loved  to  fall  into  a  long,  quiet  sequence  of  thought 
whose  progress  seemed  to  keep  step  with  the  strides  of  his 
horse.  Among  other  interesting  things,  he  had  to  think  of 
his  Sunday's  sermon ;  for  Dan  never  trusted  to  the  inspira- 
tion before  last,  but  coined  every  sermon  new  and  shining 
from  the  industrious  mint  of  his  mind.  Dr.  MacColl,  too, 
found  her  own  pleasures  in  the  expedition.  Even  the  camp- 
followers  added  their  share  to  the  general  feeling  of  har- 
mony ;  for  they  did  their  work  pretty  well  and  quarrelled  no 
more  than  was  absolutely  necessary. 

So  the  party  journeyed  on  until,  rather  late  Saturday 
evening,  they  reached  Suj  Anak,  and  encamped  in  a  field 
just  outside  the  town.  Here  they  were  joyously  received 
by  the  members  of  the  native  church,  who  constrained  them 
to  lodge  in  their  houses.  This  hospitality  would  have  been 
accepted  by  the  missionaries  except  for  the  presence  of  Miss 
Stuart;  but  they  agreed  that  they  could  not  subject  their 
guest  to  the  hardship  of  two  nights  in  a  native  house ;  so 
they  found  means  of  turning  aside  the  eagerness  of  their 
would-be  hosts. 

Sunday  morning  the  Americans  all  attended  service  at 
the  old  Nestorian  Church.  Dan  preached  and  Thorley  led 
the  singing;  while  Jean  Stuart  alternately  choked  and 
gasped,  having  frequent  recourse  to  the  lump  of  camphor 
which  she  carried  in  her  handkerchief.  She  had  time  how- 
ever to  notice  Dan's  expression  as  he  spoke,  and  she  resolved 
to  ask  him  when  she  had  a  chance,  what  was  the  subject  of 
his  sermon.  Dan  felt  it  right  to  accept  the  dinner  invita- 
tion of  the  resident  pastor.  So  the  four  travellers  sat  down 
on  the  floor  of  the  parsonage  to  dine  with  the  men  of  the 
family,  while  the  women  waited  on  them,  stepping  across 
the  cloth  when  convenient,  with  their  bare  feet. 

Jean  had  hard  work  to  keep  up  an  appearance  of  eating ; 
but  the  others  made  a  hearty  meal  and  pronounced  the  food 
unusually  good. 


EXPLANATIONS   ASKED  227 

All  the  afternoon  they  were  surrounded  by  a  mob  of 
people.  Some  wanted  to  talk  with  the  missionaries  about 
religion;  others  wanted  medicine  and  surgical  aid,  while 
many  were  simply  curious  about  the  foreigners.  Thorley 
offered  to  take  Jean  for  a  walk,  that  she  might  get  away 
from  the  sights  and  smells  that  were  so  distressing  to  her. 

"No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Prescott,"  she  answered,  "Dr. 
MacColl  has  more  work  than  she  can  do  alone,  and  I  have 
promised  to  help  her." 

He  smiled  at  her  so  meaningly  that  her  glance  fell  and 
she  turned  to  leave  him. 

"Just  a  minute,"  he  pleaded,  "look  me  straight  in  the 
eye  while  I  ask  you  one  question.  Who  was  it  that  sulked 
all  Wednesday  afternoon  because  she  couldn't  get  rid  of 
Missions?"  He  said  the  words  over  her  shoulder  for  she 
would  not  face  him  again. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  she  murmured,  hastening  away  to  join 
Dr.  MacColl.  "  I  hate  it  just  as  much  as  ever ;  but  no  mortal 
could  keep  from  trying  to  help  the  poor  creatures  when  they 
are  in  such  misery." 

"But  when  you  get  back  to  America,  you'll  never  think 
of  them  again,  eh?" 

She  wheeled  on  him  suddenly.  "There  is  a  nickname," 
she  declared,  "that  would  suit  you  better  than  any  other. 
I  have  always  wanted  to  call  you  by  it." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know ?" 

"Yes,  I  dare  you  to  tell  me." 

"Well,  it's  Thorny.  You've  been  a  perfect  thorn  to  me 
ever  since  I  reached  Muramna.  I  wish  you  would  stop 
teasing  me  about  Missions.  I  don't  like  them  and  I  never 
will;  and  you  don't  like  them  one  bit  better  than  I  do  !" 

Followed  by  the  sound  of  a  hearty  laugh  from  her  tor- 
mentor, she  made  her  escape  into  the  hospital  tent,  where 
she  knelt  on  the  ground  all  through  the  afternoon,  washing 


228  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

sores  and  handing  instruments,  stanching  the  flow  of  blood, 
and  applying  antiseptic  dressings. 

It  was  not  until  after  dark  that  the  missionaries  were 
free  to  sit  down  in  the  light  of  the  camp-fire  for  their  evening 
meal.  When  they  had  finished  eating,  they  wrapped  them- 
selves in  cloaks  and  drew  near  the  fire  for  a  Sunday  evening 
chat. 

"Now  this  is  cosey,"  said  Dr.  MacColl,  emerging  from 
her  cloak  to  indulge  in  the  joy  of  poking  the  fire.  "I'm 
just  tired  enough  to  like  it  and  not  quite  as  sleepy  as  I  am 
on  the  days  when  we  ride  'from  morn  till  dewy  eve.'" 

"We  needn't  travel  as  fast  now,"  said  Thorley  Prescott. 
"The  Sheikh  says  we  are  only  two  short  farsangs  from  his 
home.  That  means  that  we  reach  it  easily  Tuesday  after- 
noon." 

"And  then  I  shall  be  leaving  you,"  said  Dan  Lawrence. 
"I  wish  you  were  going  all  the  way  with  me." 

Jean  Stuart  bethought  herself  of  the  question  she  had 
intended  to  ask  about  the  morning  sermon;  but  close  to 
her  side  sat  "Thorny"  Prescott;  and  she  refrained. 

"Now,  Jean  Stuart,"  said  the  doctor  briskly,  "this  is 
just  the  time  for  a  hymn.  You'll  be  singing  us  'The  Land 
o'  the  Leal'  at  the  polite  request  of  an  old  Scotch  woman; 
and  if  he's  in  a  pleasing  frame  of  mind,  Thorley  Prescott 
will  be  humming  an  accompaniment." 

"Miss  Stuart,  as  you  should  know,  is  much  too  tired  to 
sing,"  growled  Thorley. 

"And  Mr.  Prescott  is  in  anything  but  a  pleasing  frame 
of  mind,"  trilled  Jean,  "as-we-can-very-easily-see-for-our- 
selves."  She  lilted  the  last  words  right  up  into  his  face. 
The  firelight  shone  on  the  witchery  of  her  smile  and  kin- 
dled her  hair  into  an  aureole.  Thorley  rose  hastily  and 
strode  away,  muttering  as  he  went,  something  about  seeing 
to  the  horses. 

"Now,  Jean,  you  can  sing,"  said  Dr.  MacColl. 


EXPLANATIONS   ASKED  22Q 

"No,  really,  I  am  too  tired;  and  besides  I  want  to  ask 
Mr.  Lawrence  about  his  sermon  this  morning.  What  were 
you  saying?"  she  asked,  turning  to  Dan.  "You  know  I 
can't  understand ;  but  you  looked  so  happy  that  I  wondered 
what  it  was  all  about." 

"'I  shall  be  satisfied  when  I  awake  in  His  likeness,'"  Dan 
replied  softly. 

"And  what  does  that  mean?"  asked  Jean.  "What  do 
you  see  in  'His  likeness'  that  you  should  desire  it 
so?" 

"The  power  to  keep  in  touch  with  my  Heavenly  Father," 
answered  Dan,  "so  that  I  may  know  that  my  work  is  all 
an  expression  of  His  will." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  keeping  in  touch  ?"  asked  Jean. 
"Is  that  prayer?" 

"Prayer  is  one  way  of  getting  in  touch  with  Him  —  the 
first  way,  I  think  —  and  perhaps  the  last  way,  too." 

"And  then,"  said  Jean,  "what  else  does  'His  likeness' 
mean  to  you  ?  " 

"Peace,"  Dan  replied.  "The  sense  that  I  am  forgiven 
because  I  have  been  strong  enough  to  forgive." 

"Anything  else?"  asked  Jean. 

"Much  else,"  Dan  smiled  as  he  said  the  quiet  words, 
"but  perhaps  it  is  all  summed  up  in  the  one  word  Love. 
I  want  a  love  to  shine  through  me  that  will  have  power  to 
attract  every  soul  I  meet." 

"To  you?"  asked  Jean. 

"To  'His  likeness,'"  Dan  replied. 

"Then  religion  means  to  you,"  said  Jean,  "power  to 
pray  and  forgive  and  love  ?  " 

"And  give,"  added  Dr.  MacColl  emphatically,  "like 
Christ,  and  because  of  Him  and  for  Him.  Yes,  that's  a 
pretty  good  definition  of  Christianity ;  and  Dan  had  it  all 
in  his  sermon  this  morning.  What's  better  still,"  she  added 
under  her  breath  to  Jean,  "he  has  it  all  in  his  life." 


230  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"But  there  isn't  much  of  the  supernatural  about  that," 
said  Jean. 

"Oh,  isn't  there?"  answered  a  voice  from  behind  the 
little  circle  of  light.  "Did  you  ever  have  anything  to  for- 
give ?  Is  it  a  part  of  your  nature  to  love  those  that  despite- 
fully  use  you?  I  must  say  it  isn't  in  me." 

Jean  Stuart  gave  a  great  start  as  Thorley  Prescott  came 
striding  into  the  light  and  stood  looking  down  at  the  fire  with 
his  hands  in  his  overcoat  pockets. 

"May  I  suggest,"  he  added,  "that  the  fire  is  going 
out?" 

"And  it's  bedtime,"  assented  Dr.  MacColl,  rising  and 
shaking  herself. 

"Make  a  few  allowances  for  me,  old  man,"  said  Dan 
Lawrence.  "I  have  only  two  more  evenings  to  spend  with 
you  all." 

Two  days  later  the  travellers  arrived  at  the  stronghold  of 
the  Kurdish  Chief,  and  pitched  their  tents  at  the  foot  of  his 
hill.  Here  Dan  Lawrence  said  good-by  to  his  friends  on 
the  morning  of  Wednesday,  March  the  gth. 

Before  he  left,  he  took  Thorley  aside  and  warned  him  that 
Hilgar  believed  they  had  been  followed  for  two  or  three 
days  by  a  party  of  men,  who  kept  far  enough  behind  so  that 
it  was  seldom  possible  to  catch  sight  of  them. 

"Hilgar  thinks,"  said  Dan,  "that  the  shortest  of  the  men 
wears  a  green  turban." 

Thorley  looked  up  with  a  gleam  in  his  eye.  "I  never  did 
believe  that  the  little  viper  was  dead." 

"Well,  be  careful,  old  man,"  said  Dan.  with  a  hand  on  his 
friend's  shoulder.  "I  believe  that  Hadji  Husain  is  dead 
or  I  should  never  think  of  leaving  you  alone  with  the  two 
ladies ;  but  it  may  be  that  a  band  of  robbers  is  waiting  for 
a  chance  to  waylay  you.  They  won't  touch  you  while  the 
Sheikh  is  in  your  party.  So  you'd  better  let  him  escort  you 
back  at  least  as  far  as  Suj  Anak." 


EXPLANATIONS   ASKED  231 

"I'll  do  that,"  said  Thorley,  thinking  of  Jean.  "  Are  you 
taking  a  guide?" 

"Yes,  through  this  mountain  pass.  After  that  it's  plain 
sailing.  You  can  see  the  horizon  for  miles  around.  Well, 
I  wish  you  were  all  going  with  me.  It  will  be  a  lonely  jour- 
ney now." 

Thorley  and  the  two  ladies  climbed  a  little  hill  to  watch 
Dan  ride  away.  He  turned  as  he  entered  the  pass,  to  wave 
his  hand  at  them,  and  shouted  back  a  message  that  came 
clearly  through  the  pure  air. 

"If  you  see  Margaret  first,  give  her  my  love." 

And  with  that  he  was  lost  to  sight. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  HELL  OF  DIFFICULTY 

As  soon  as  Dan  had  left,  Dr.  MacColl,  escorted  by  Thor- 
ley  Prescott,  went  up  the  hill  to  diagnose  the  case  of  the 
Kurdish  Chief's  wife.  This  was  the  woman  whom  the  doc- 
tor had  come  so  far  to  see.  Prescott  secretly  provided  that 
a  strong  guard  of  Kurds  should  watch  over  Jean  Stuart 
whenever  he  was  away ;  and  she  was  commanded  not  to 
wander  from  the  encampment. 

Thorley  had  to  go  with  the  doctor  because  she  did  not 
understand  this  Kurdish  dialect.  They  climbed  up  through 
a  rocky  defile  which  was  guarded  by  a  boy  with  a  stone 
poised  in  his  hand.  Inside  a  high  craggy  wall  was  a  collection 
of  horse-hair  tents,  from  one  of  which  issued  the  groans  of  a 
dying  woman.  Dr.  MacColl,  a  little  breathless  from  climb- 
ing, quickened  her  pace,  and  disappeared  promptly  behind  the 
flap.  Thorley  was  permitted  to  stand  just  outside,  where  he 
could  act  as  interpreter  for  the  women  within  the  tent  and 
the  men  who  were  clustered  outside.  Dr.  MacColl  found  a 
clear  and  beautiful  case  of  the  curious  disease  with  which 
she  had  been  grappling  in  the  dark  for  many  years.  It  had 
progressed  so  far  in  this  case,  that  she  could  do  little  except 
to  relieve  the  patient  temporarily ;  but  she  felt  that  if  she 
could  watch  the  woman  for  a  few  days,  she  would  be  in  a 
position  to  cure  cases  that  were  less  advanced  and  to  make 
a  very  interesting  contribution  to  medical  literature.  She 
spent  the  morning  with  her  patient,  returned  to  the  camp 
for  a  hasty  lunch,  and  went  up  the  hill  again  for  another 

232 


THE   HILL   OF   DIFFICULTY  233 

hour.  She  had  the  pleasure  of  leaving  the  Kurdish  woman 
sleeping  peacefully  for  the  first  time  in  several  months. 
The  tears  ran  down  the  iron  cheeks  of  the  Chief,  as  he  lis- 
tened to  the  quiet  breathing  of  his  wife  and  saw  her  face 
with  the  lines  of  pain  smoothed  away.  He  made  his  salaams 
humbly  to  the  doctor  and  to  Thorley  Prescott,  assuring 
them  that  anything  he  had  was  theirs. 

Dr.  MacColl  went  down  the  hill  again  well  satisfied,  and 
deluged  Jean  Stuart,  who  was  writing  letters  in  the  door  of 
their  tent,  with  a  flood  of  professional  details  that  made 
Jean  put  both  hands  to  her  ears. 

"Oh,  gammon,"  said  the  doctor,  good-naturedly,  "you 
needn't  pretend  that  you  don't  take  a  healthy  human  in- 
terest in  all  these  things.  You  can't  fool  me  !  Your  brain 
is  as  keen,  your  stomach  as  strong,  and  your  heart  as  ten- 
der as  mine  or  Thorley's ;  and  to-morrow  I'll  take  you  up 
to  see  the  case,  though  it  won't  be  as  interesting  as  it  was 
to-day.  Come  on  in  and  help  me  hunt  a  clean  waist.  I 
really  think  I  must  change,  to  celebrate  my  grand  discovery." 

The  doctor  stepped  inside  the  tent  and  began  unbutton- 
ing her  blouse,  with  a  vigor  that  would  have  shaken  to  its 
very  foundations  any  garment  less  powerfully  constructed. 
(She  always  sewed  her  seams  twice  over  on  a  lock-stitch 
machine ;  and  the  material  her  sister  sent  her  from  America 
never  wore  out.  None  of  the  other  missionaries  could  get 
their  sisters  to  find  anything  like  it.) 

Thorley  detained  Jean  as  she  was  following  the  doctor. 
"Please  come  for  a  walk  with  me,"  he  said.  "There's  a  hill 
near  by,  which  we  ought  to  explore." 

"I'd  like  that,"  said  Jean ;  "but  please  let  me  see  first  if 
I  can  do  anything  for  the  doctor." 

"Just  get  your  hat,"  urged  Thorley ;  "  she's  perfectly  able 
to  change  her  own  clothes.  And  she'll  gibber  eternally 
about  her  old  disease  if  you  stay." 

Jean  regarded  him  with  a  look  that  strove  to  seem  more 


234  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

mischievous  than  grateful.  "You  hedge  your  kindness 
very  carefully  with  thorns,"  she  said,  "but  it  peeps  through 
sometimes,  in  spite  of  you." 

His  eyes  told  her  for  the  thousand  and  first  time  all  that 
he  had  resolved  not  to  say  with  his  lips.  They  remarked 
dryly,  - 

"That  wasn't  the  way  you  put  it  last  Sunday." 

"No,"  she  admitted,  "I'm  afraid  I  was  pretty  cross. 
Let  me  own  now  once  for  all,  that  there  are  moments  when 
I  don't  feel  your  thorns  at  all." 

"Call  me  Thorny  once  in  a  while,"  he  begged,  "and  I'll 
forgive  you  anything  —  Jean." 

She  gave  him  a  look  as  she  vanished  into  the  tent,  a  look 
that  made  him  pace  savagely  up  and  down,  grinding  his 
teeth  together. 

"That  was  going  pretty  near  the  edge,"  he  told  himself. 
"I  have  no  right  to  the  delight  of  calh'ng  her  Jean." 

Presently  he  began  to  get  terribly  impatient  because  Jean 
failed  to  return,  and  he  strode  fiercely  up  to  the  tent  with 
the  intention  of  letting  her  know  how  he  felt. 

Dr.  MacColl,  in  her  clean  blouse,  emerged  from  the  flap 
just  as  he  came  up. 

"Isn't  she  coming?"  he  demanded. 

"Don't  ever  make  me  jump  like  that  again,"  snapped  the 
doctor.  "It  might  get  my  hand  to  trembling." 

"Well,  is  she  coming?"  pursued  Thorley  in  a  slightly 
gentler  voice. 

"No  doubt  she  has  heard  your  question;  and  if  she 
chooses,  she  will  answer  it  herself.  You'll  have  to  learn  a 
little  patience,  my  boy,"  and  the  doctor,  marching  away 
to  boil  her  instruments,  picked  her  steps  carefully ;  for  the 
sun  was  hot  in  this  valley,  and  the  ground  was  very  soft. 

Thorley  paced  up  and  down  for  several  minutes  longer 
before  Jean  came  out,  the  only  apparent  change  in  her  dress 
being  a  soft  felt  hat  which  was  pulled  down  over  her  hair 


THE   HILL   OF   DIFFICULTY  235 

in  a  way  that  Thorley  much  resented.  Jean  expected  his 
greeting  to  be  anything  but  suave.  She  was  almost  dis- 
appointed when  he  humbly  remarked  that  it  was  good  of 
her  to  come  and  he  hoped  she  was  wearing  rubbers.  Being 
assured  that  she  was,  he  silently  led  the  way  toward  his  hill. 

The  hill  proved  a  most  delightful  place.  They  climbed  it 
by  means  of  a  goat-path  which  brought  them  up  a  gentle 
slope  to  a  level  niche  about  half-way  to  the  summit.  This 
flat  place  was  large  enough  for  a  camping-ground  and  was 
protected  by  rocky  walls  from  the  north  and  east  winds. 
At  this  time  of  day  it  was  flooded  with  sunshine.  A  wide 
view  of  mountain  and  valley  spread  to  the  west  where  Thor- 
ley pointed  out  to  Jean  the  white  peaks  of  ranges  in  Turkey, 
which  Dan  would  have  to  pass  before  he  reached  his  destina- 
tion. To  the  south  lay  a  country  rolling  and  fertile,  dotted 
here  and  there  with  Kurdish  encampments;  and  by  step- 
ping out  on  a  ledge  of  rock  to  the  east,  they  could  peep 
around  the  side  of  the  hill  and  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  Lake 
Muramna  sparkling  in  the  sun.  At  their  feet  the  earliest 
spring  flowers  were  pricking  their  heads  above  the  ground. 
Jean,  catching  sight  of  them,  ran  in  wild  delight  from  one  to 
the  other,  caressing  each  of  the  dear  little  things  before  she 
picked  it,  and  making  up  pet  names  for  the  kinds  she  did  not 
know.  Between  flowers,  she  stopped  to  feast  her  eyes  on 
the  view :  near-by  mountains  looming  up  steep  and  rugged, 
their  bases  black  with  the  shadows  of  mighty  rocks,  their 
tops  covered  with  a  dazzling  crust  of  snow  that  was  begin- 
ning to  glow  already  in  anticipation  of  the  sunset,  distant 
mountains  of  the  deepest  purple  so  far  away  that  they  looked 
translucent  as  amethyst,  their  glistening  peaks  transfigured 
into  a  glorious  lilac,  over  all,  the  exquisite  blue  of  a  cloud- 
less sky  and  the  gorgeous  gold  of  the  Persian  sunshine. 

Jean  Stuart  drank  in  the  air  and  the  glory  and  forgot  to 
wonder  why  she  felt  so  happy.  Thorley  Prescott  drank  in 
glory,  too,  and  almost  forgot  that  it  was  not  for  him. 


236  THE   GOODLY    FELLOWSHIP 

For  a  long  time  they  scarcely  spoke.  Jean  made  little 
inarticulate  noises  to  the  flowers  she  gathered,  blowing  into 
their  faces  to  make  them  bloom.  Thorley  thought  dead 
flowers  would  have  come  to  life  with  such  a  spirit  breath- 
ing on  them.  At  last  Jean  sat  down  suddenly  where  the 
view  was  most  beautiful  and,  dropping  her  flowers  into  her 
lap,  began  to  make  a  bouquet.  Thorley  strode  quickly 
over  to  her,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"You  mustn't  sit  there,"  he  said. 

"Why  not?"  said  Jean,  ignoring  his  hand  and  sorting 
her  flowers  with  great  care. 

"It's  wet.  The  springs  are  just  behind  you."  He  took 
the  hand  that  held  the  incipient  bouquet  and,  pulling 
gently,  tried  to  make  her  rise. 

Jean  left  her  hand  placidly  in  his  but  kept  her  seat,  though 
with  some  effort.  "  Please  leave  me  alone,"  she  said,  smiling 
up  at  him.  "I'm  very  comfortable  here  in  spite  of  the 
springs,  and  I'll  lose  all  these  flowers  if  I  try  to  get  up." 

"I'll  help  you  gather  them  again,"  said  Thorley,  getting 
possession  of  the  other  hand  and  giving  a  real  pull  which 
brought  her  to  her  feet  in  spite  of  all  she  could  do.  The 
flowers,  of  course,  fell  to  the  ground;  and  Thorley  went 
promptly  on  his  knees  to  pick  them  up. 

Jean  Stuart  felt  like  anything  but  a  lady  as  she  stood  look- 
ing down  at  his  broad  back.  She  wanted  to  do  as  she  would 
have  done  when  she  was  ten  years  old,  she  wanted  to  pummel 
and  scratch  and  revile.  In  short,  she  did  not  want  to  "let 
the  ape  and  tiger  die."  But  she  mastered  herself  and  walked 
quietly  away,  climbing  around  the  ledge  of  rock  whence 
Thorley  had  shown  her  Lake  Muramna. 

As  she  went  out  on  the  ledge,  she  saw  that  farther  on,  there 
was  a  narrower  shelf  from  which  the  rock  dropped  away  in 
a  precipice.  Even  where  she  was  standing,  the  descent  was 
steep  enough  to  give  her  a  dizzy  feeling ;  but  a  foolish  idea 
came  into  her  head  that  if  she  should  go  farther  out  on  the 


THE   HILL   OF   DIFFICULTY  237 

shelf,  she  would  be  hidden  by  the  curve  of  the  hill  and  Thor- 
ley  Prescott,  when  he  had  finished  picking  up  every  one 
of  those  flowers,  would  be  startled  at  not  finding  her  within 
sight.  She  glanced  back  and  saw  him  still  bending  con- 
scientiously over  the  spot  where  she  had  been  sitting ;  and 
the  desire  of  punishing  him  tempted  her  greatly.  But  when 
she  had  looked  again  at  the  narrowness  of  the  shelf  and  the 
depth  of  the  precipice,  she  put  the  childish  impulse  aside, 
turning  impatiently  back  to  join  the  man  who,  having  forced 
from  her  a  primeval  obedience,  deserved  the  primeval  punish- 
ment that  she  was  too  civilized  to  give  him.  With  the  hasty 
movement  her  foot  slipped ;  she  felt  it  going  out  from  under 
her;  she  felt  herself  falling  and  sliding,  sliding,  faster  and 
faster  toward  the  edge  of  the  rock. 

"Thor,"  she  cried,  "save  me!"  And  she  gripped  the 
surface  of  the  rock  desperately  with  her  hands  and  nails. 

Thorley  reached  her  almost  before  the  cry  was  out  of  her 
mouth.  He  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  like  a 
child  back  to  safety.  Then  he  held  her  while  he  took  off 
his  coat  and  placed  it  for  her  to  lie  on.  In  the  meantime 
he  was  speaking ;  and  Jean  Stuart  kept  her  eyes  closed  that 
she  might  not  interrupt  the  sweetness  of  those  words.  But 
when  he  had  laid  her  down  on  the  coat  and  was  bending 
over  her  in  silence,  she  opened  her  eyes,  smiling,  and  asked 
for  water. 

He  hastened  to  fill  his  drinking-cup  from  the  springs  that 
had  caused  their  disagreement.  She  propped  herself  against 
the  wall  of  rock  and  drank  all  he  brought  her  and,  when  he 
offered  to  get  more,  she  let  him.  As  he  stooped  to  the 
springs  the  second  time,  she  saw  him  pick  up  the  compact 
bunch  of  flowers  he  had  been  collecting  and  crowd  it  into 
his  pocket. 

She,  leaning  against  the  rock,  drank  the  second  cup  of 
water  very  slowly,  and  as  he  stood  silent,  looking  down  at 
her,  she  went  over  the  words  he  had  spoken  while  her  eyes 


238  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

were  closed,  rejoiced  at  them,  wondered  why  she  should  re- 
joice, and  wondered  most  of  all  why  he  had  stopped  when  he 
did.  If  he  had  gone  on  to  say  anything  that  asked  for  an 
answer,  it  might  have  been  hard  for  her  to  give  it.  No  was 
an  ugly  word  to  throw  at  a  man  who  had  just  saved  one's 
life ;  and  of  course  it  would  be  entirely  out  of  the  question 
to  tell  him  "Yes"  ;  and  yet  —  and  yet  —  she  believed  she 
rather  wished  he  would  go  on.  From  the  way  he  had  already 
spoken,  she  knew  there  was  plenty  more  that  he  would  like 
to  say.  So  she  reflected,  drinking  the  water  slowly  and  feel- 
ing his  eyes  always  on  her.  At  last  she  looked  up  to  hand 
him  the  cup  and  to  see  for  herself  why  he  hesitated.  And 
when  she  saw  his  face,  she  began  all  over  again  to  wonder, 
but  this  time  without  joy.  Stern  and  strong  were  his  eyes, 
firm  and  sad  his  mouth.  His  face  was  drawn  and  gray  and 
his  left  hand  was  clenched,  so  that  the  knuckles  were  white 
against  his  brown  skin  and  the  veins  stood  out  big  and  black. 
Jean  Stuart  had  never  seen  a  man  looking  like  that,  and  she 
was  so  frightened  that  she  started  to  her  feet. 

Instantly  his  face  changed  to  the  expression  she  was  learn- 
ing to  claim  as  her  own.  Quickly  he  put  out  his  hands  and 
steadied  her,  kneeling  as  he  helped  her  lean  back  against  the 
rock,  and  saying  in  his  gentlest  tone:  — 

"  What  is  it,  Jean  ?  What  is  it,  little  girl  ?  Has  anything 
frightened  you  ?  " 

Jean  hid  her  face  against  the  rock  and  shuddered.  In 
that  moment  there  came  to  her  a  knowledge  which  she  would 
have  gone  far  to  escape.  Thorley  sat  down  beside  her, 
so  near  that  she  could  feel  his  breath  against  her  neck  and 
the  warmth  of  his  presence  through  every  part  of  her. 
Every  instinct  implored  her  to  throw  herself  into  his  arms, 
to  lay  her  head  on  his  shoulder  till  comfort  should  come  to 
her,  and  then  to  lift  her  face  and  comfort  him  with  her  lips 
and  her  heart  and  her  whole  life. 

Yet  she  continued  to  shrink  away  from  him  against  the 


THE   HILL    OF    DIFFICULTY  239 

rock ;  and  he,  feeling  that  she  shrank,  rose  and,  walking  to  a 
little  distance,  stood  looking  off  across  the  valley  to  the 
mountains  of  Turkey.  There  was  anguish  in  his  heart. 
Bitterly  he  blamed  himself  for  the  past,  wildly  he  raged 
against  the  temptation  of  the  moment,  hopelessly  he  turned 
his  face  away  from  the  future.  And  Jean,  watching  his 
motionless  back,  wondered  more  and  more  and  fought 
against  confessing  that  the  sympathy  she  felt  for  him  was 
a  good  half  disappointment. 

The  frankness  of  her  thoughts  became  at  last  so  irritating 
that  she  rose  impatiently  and  went  toward  Thorley,  preen- 
ing herself  a  little  as  she  went,  smoothing  her  plumage  like 
a  bird  that  has  come  to  the  edge  of  the  nest  and  poises  itself 
to  fly  blithely  away.  By  the  time  she  had  reached  Thor- 
ley's  side,  she  was  herself  again,  friendly  and  helpful  and 
full  of  common  sense. 

"Come,  Mr.  Prescott,"  she  said,  as  if  their  chief  concern 
had  always  been  the  view  from  this  particular  place,  "the 
view  is  too  lovely  to  leave.  I  suggest  that  we  move  our 
tents  to-morrow  to  this  very  spot  and  stay  here  as  long  as 
we  can.  But  now  it  is  almost  sunset ;  and  Dr.  MacColl  will 
be  wondering  where  we  are." 

With  the  last  words,  she  started  quietly  down  the  path. 
He  was  beside  her  in  a  moment,  seizing  her  almost  roughly 
by  the  arm. 

"Can't  you  wait  for  me  to  help  you?"  he  cried.  "Do 
you  want  to  kill  yourself  —  and  me  ?" 

"Hush,  hush,"  she  said,  "the  path  isn't  steep  a  bit ;  and  I 
feel  quite  well  again ;  but  I'll  take  your  arm,  if  you  like." 

He  groaned  aloud  and  planting  himself  before  her  in  the 
path,  put  his  hands  behind  him  so  that  his  arms  pressed 
tightly  against  his  sides.  His  face,  as  he  looked  up  at  her, 
was  knotted  with  grief. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "can't  you  see  that  this  is  killing  me?" 

Jean  wondered  dully  that  she  was  not  afraid  of  him ;  for 


240  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

he  brought  the  words  out  desperately,  glaring  as  if  he  hated 
her.  But  she  moved  a  little  toward  him,  saying  gently :  — 

"What  is  killing  you,  Thorny?" 

" My  God  ! "  he  cried,  " she  calls  me  ' Thorny.'  "  And  he 
turned  his  back  on  her. 

Jean  Stuart  sat  down  quietly  in  the  path  and  waited. 
Indeed  she  had  to  sit  down;  for  she  was  trembling.  It 
seemed  an  eternity  that  she  sat  there,  looking  at  Thorley's 
back.  At  last  he  faced  her ;  and  though  his  lips  quivered, 
his  eyes  were  calm  with  the  acceptance  of  a  great  sorrow 
and  disgrace.  He  held  out  to  her  the  knotted  end  of  his 
handkerchief. 

"If  you'll  take  hold  of  this,"  he  said,  "I  can  help  you." 
And,  seeing  her  look  of  astonishment,  he  added,  "If  I  should 
touch  your  hand  again  —  The  rest  was  choked  by  a  dry 
sob  as  he  turned  to  lead  her  down  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

BLOW  ON  BLOW 

THAT  night  Jean  Stuart  found  it  difficult  to  sleep.  Hour 
after  hour  she  lay  puzzling  over  the  events  of  the  afternoon, 
and  scourging  herself  that  it  could  make  any  difference  to 
her  whether  or  not  a  man  got  up  his  courage  to  make  a  pro- 
posal of  marriage. 

"I  couldn't  dream  of  marrying  him,  anyway,"  she  told 
herself  for  the  hundredth  time  as  she  strove  to  shut  out  the 
remembrance  of  Thorley  Prescott's  face  by  arranging  her 
air  pillow  so  that  it  would  not  cramp  her  neck.  To  sleep  with 
only  a  slumber-bag  between  you  and  the  hard,  cold  ground 
is  all  very  well ;  but  if  you  are  obliged  to  lie  awake,  you  are 
advised  to  provide  yourself  at  least  with  a  cot  and  with  one 
that  does  not  squeak  ! 

After  she  had  twisted  herself  around  for  several  hours 
inside  her  bag,  Jean  Stuart  was  cold  as  well  as  angry ;  but 
her  mind  was  still  persistently  haunted  by  the  face  of 
Thorley  Prescott  as  she  had  seen  it  that  day  on  the 
hill.  When  she  opened  her  eyes,  she  could  see  that  face 
gazing  at  her  through  the  inky  darkness  and  when  she  closed 
them,  she  could  see  it  still,  imperious,  alarmed,  tender,  rap- 
turous, stern,  compassionate,  terrible,  or  appealing.  As  she 
had  seen  it  in  the  daylight,  so  she  was  condemned  to  see  it 
all  night  long ;  for  when  at  last  she  did  fall  asleep,  the  face 
still  looked  at  her ;  and  she  began  to  flee  from  it  over  hill  and 
valley. 

Through  range  after  range  of  mountains,  her  sleeping 

R  241 


242  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

spirit  wandered.  She  hid  beneath  overhanging  crags,  she 
perched  on  the  slippery  pinnacles  of  the  highest  peaks, 
she  fell  more  than  once  from  a  precipice ;  but  everywhere 
she  was  met  by  that  from  which  she  was  fleeing :  the  face  of 
Thorley  Prescott  and  the  sense  of  his  suffering.  Then,  after 
she  had  thrown  herself  from  an  inconceivable  height,  and 
was  falling  for  ages  through  the  dark,  suddenly  she  lost  the 
sense  of  his  presence  and  passed  from  the  terror  of  headlong 
flight  into  a  loneliness  that  was  even  more  awful.  Des- 
perately she  started  out  again,  groping,  slipping,  panting, 
through  the  dark  in  search  of  that  companionship  which 
she  had  done  her  best  to  escape.  And  suddenly  there  was  a 
great  light ;  and  she  had  found  his  face,  shining,  glorious,  as 
she  had  never  yet  seen  it ;  and  she  awoke  with  a  cry  to 
discover  that,  through  a  hole  in  the  tent,  the  sun  was  shin- 
ing straight  into  her  eyes.  Knowing  that  she  had  cried 
out,  she  feared  lest  Dr.  MacColl  had  been  disturbed ;  but 
that  lady  giving  every  sign  of  being  still  in  the  deepest 
slumber,  Jean  felt  at  liberty  to  dress  very  quietly,  and 
escape  from  the  tent. 

The  air  and  the  sunshine  had  never  felt  so  good  as  they 
did  now,  after  the  horrors  of  the  night.  Jean  shook  herself 
as  she  walked  away  to  the  hillock  whence,  only  the  morning 
before,  they  had  watched  the  departure  of  Dan  Lawrence. 

"It  seems  a  good  deal  longer  than  that ;  and  yet  nothing 
has  happened  of  any  account." 

Whereupon  she  reached  the  top  of  the  hillock  and  started 
violently,  as  she  saw  that  just  under  the  rock  on  which  she 
stood,  there  sat  a  man  with  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands. 

"Oh,"  said  Jean  Stuart,  before  she  could  stop  herself. 

And,  "Oh!"  said  the  man,  starting  to  his  feet.  "Are 
you  here?" 

"Yes,"  faltered  Jean,  "I  could  —  I  —  that  is  —  the  sun 
woke  me  up ;  and  I  came  out  to  see  what  kind  of  morning  it 
is." 


BLOW   ON  BLOW  243 

"Will  you  sit  down  ?"  asked  Thorley  Prescott,  taking  off 
his  coat  and  laying  it  on  the  rock  where  he  had  been  sitting. 

"Not  on  your  coat,"  she  answered.  "It's  cold,  and  you 
need  it  yourself.  Besides,  I  don't  care  to  sit  down." 

Without  a  word  Thorley  put  on  his  coat  and  waited  with 
his  eyes  on  Jean's  face  to  see  what  her  wishes  were.  She 
put  up  her  hand,  ostensibly  to  shade  her  eyes,  which,  as  her 
back  was  to  the  east,  looked  rather  foolish.  The  sun  was 
shining  full  on  Thorley's  face,  and  his  expression  was  for  the 
moment  the  very  one  she  had  seen  just  before  she  woke. 
Then  she  had  cried  out  at  the  sight  of  it ;  now  she  did  not 
know  what  to  do  and,  being  unstrung  after  her  broken  night, 
she  blurted  out :  — 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  stand  there  looking  at  me.  Can't 
you  say  something  ?  " 

As  he  lowered  his  eyes,  the  radiance  passed  from  his  face, 
leaving  it  weary  and  gray. 

Jean  Stuart  stamped  her  foot.  "  Can't  you  speak  ?"  she 
demanded.  Then  she  collected  herself.  "I'm  tired  of 
darkness  and  night,"  she  declared  with  a  light  laugh,  "and 
I  look  to  you  for  a  little  pleasant  human  chatter." 

Thorley  smiled  grimly.  "You've  come  to  the  wrong 
person,"  was  all  he  answered. 

Then,  with  a  sudden  determination,  he  stepped  up  and 
offered  his  hand  to  help  her  down  from  the  rock.  "Please 
come  down  here  beside  me  just  a  minute,"  he  pleaded.  "I 
want  to  tell  you  something.  Perhaps  it  will  help  me  to  be 
steadfast  if  you  understand." 

She  waved  him  aside.  "You  can  tell  me  from  below.  I 
like  this  rock  and  I  mean  to  stay  on  it.  As  nearly  as  I  can 
make  out,  you  are  steadfast  enough  without  any  help  from 
me." 

"But  you  don't  know,"  he  cried  in  astonishment,  "it  isn't 
possible  that  my  Father  has  told  you  ?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  you  except  what  you  told  me 


244 


THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 


yourself  at  Akbar.  I  know  that  you  think  you  must  stay  in 
Persia  forever." 

He  almost  laughed  at  the  jolt  of  meeting  with  so  different 
a  train  of  thought.  "It's  not  that  at  all,"  he  spoke  more 
and  more  slowly.  "It's  just  that  I  want  you  to  know  that 
I'm  engaged  to  be  married." 

Jean  Stuart's  long  social  training  came  to  her  aid.  "Let 
me  congratulate  you,"  she  said  smoothly,  holding  out  her 
hand. 

He  took  it  with  a  look  which  she  never  forgot. 

"And  now,"  she  went  on,  "I  begin  to  feel  as  if  a  little 
breakfast  would  be  acceptable ;  and  while  we  are  walking 
back,  you  will  tell  me  all  about  the  young  lady  and  why  you 
have  kept  your  friends  in  ignorance  of  your  blissful  condi- 
tion." If  there  was  a  breath  of  irony  in  the  last  words,  it 
was  inaudible. 

As  she  turned  to  leave  the  hillock,  her  eye  mechanically 
swept  the  western  horizon. 

"Oh,  see,  Mr.  Prescott,"  she  exclaimed  in  a  very  different 
tone,  "who  are  those  men  and  what  are  they  bring- 
ing?" 

Thorley  wheeled  to  look  where  she  was  pointing.  He 
gazed  for  several  long  seconds  before  he  spoke.  "Go  back 
to  the  camp,"  he  commanded.  "Wake  up  Dr.  MacColl  and 
stay  in  your  tent,  both  of  you,  till  I,  myself,  tell  you  to  come 
out." 

"But  what  is  it?"  asked  Jean.     "Who  is  it?" 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,"  he  thundered,  "and  run." 

He  waited  to  see  her  start  before  he  advanced  in  the 
other  direction. 

Jean  found  Dr.  MacColl  almost  dressed  and  inclined  to 
make  light  of  her  news  and  Thorley's  commands. 

"It's  a  couple  of  patients,  of  course,"  she  declared. 
"They're  being  brought  on  litters  because  they  can't  walk  ; 
and  they've  come  before  the  sun  is  up.  Very  sensible,  I'm 


BLOW   ON   BLOW  245 

sure."  At  this  point  the  doctor  essayed  to  leave  the  tent ; 
but  Jean  laid  hold  of  her  skirt  and  prevented  her. 

"Mr.  Prescott  said  we  were  both  to  stay  here  until  he 
came." 

The  doctor  muttered  something  about  a  boy  and  an 
idiot ;  but  she  stayed  in  the  tent.  As  for  Jean,  she  began 
packing  her  saddle-bags ;  and  after  watching  her  a  moment, 
the  doctor  turned  white  to  the  lips  and  followed  her  ex- 
ample. 

''You  know  more,  young  lady,  than  you  will  tell  me,"  she 
murmured,  as  she  tied  up  her  bottle  of  tooth- wash  in  one  of 
her  woollen  bed-socks. 

It  seemed  an  eternity  to  both  the  women  before  they 
heard  outside  the  tent  the  voice  of  Thorley  Prescott. 

"Both  of  you  please  come  out,"  he  said.  They  opened 
the  tent  and  went  out  trembling. 

"You'd  better  sit  down,"  he  said,  "before  I  tell  you." 

"We  know,"  answered  Dr.  MacColl.  "It's  Dan,"  she 
sobbed  as  she  said  it.  "Is  he  dead?" 

"Yes,  he  and  Hilgar.  The  Kurds  have  brought  their 
bodies." 

"Is  there  no  life  in  them?"  The  doctor  made  a  motion 
to  go  and  see  for  herself ;  but  Thorley  detained  her. 

"No,  no;  they  must  have  been  lying  dead  for  hours  be- 
fore they  were  found." 

"The  Kurds  were  not  with  them  at  the  time?" 

"No,  they  had  left  Dan  at  the  end  of  the  pass  and  had 
gone  for  a  hunt  in  the  hills.  It  was  when  they  were  return- 
ing towards  evening  that  they  came  on  traces  of  a  fight, 
which  they  followed  until  they  found  —  His  voice  broke. 
He  cleared  his  throat  and  went  on  huskily.  "  They  did  what 
they  could  and  came  back  as  quickly  as  possible.  But  it 
was  too  dark  to  come  through  the  pass,  so  burdened.  And 
now  — " 

"We  must  make  ready  to  start  at  once,"  said  the  doctor. 


246  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Oh,"  cried  Thorley  Prescott,  "if  only  it  could  have  been 

I." 

Jean  Stuart  leaning  against  the  tent-pole  had  not  spoken. 
Now  she  came  up  to  Thorley  and  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
asked  in  a  terrified  voice,  "Who  did  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Prescott;  but  his  eyes  fell  before 
hers ;  and  she  reading  his  horror  from  her  own,  knew  that 
he  lied. 

"They  told  me  the  Hadji  was  dead,"  she  cried. 

"He  is  dead,"  snapped  Dr.  MacColl.  "Come,  come, 
there's  no  time  to  waste." 

"Is  he?"  persisted  Jean,  her  hand  still  on  Thorley's  arm, 
her  eyes  still  searching  his.  "Is  he  dead,  or  is  this  the  re- 
venge he  has  taken  on  us  ?  Tell  me  the  truth,  Thorley  Pres- 
cott, and  let  me  bear  it  with  you." 

Without  one  word,  Thorley's  look  answered  her  as  fully  as 
if  he  had  shown  her  the  paper  the  Kurds  had  found,  blood- 
stained and  pierced  by  a  poiniard,  and  bearing  on  it  just  two 
words  — 

BRESCOTT  NEXT 

And  now,  mercifully,  they  had  no  more  time  to  think  of 
themselves.  The  bodies  had  first  of  all  to  be  prepared  by 
every  artifice  of  loving  ingenuity  for  the  inevitable  rough- 
ness of  the  journey.  The  camp  had  to  be  broken ;  and  a 
little  food  must  if  possible  be  swallowed  by  aching  throats. 

The  Kurdish  Chief,  informed  already  by  the  men  who  had 
brought  the  bodies,  was  most  kind  with  his  offers  of  horses 
and  men,  and  insisted  on  escorting  the  party  himself  every 
step  of  the  way  to  Muramna.  His  wife  had  slept  all  night ; 
and  he  could  not  do  enough  to  show  his  gratitude.  Dr. 
MacColl  found  a  moment  while  the  mules  were  being  loaded, 
to  rush  up  the  hill  and  say  good-by  to  her  patient.  She  left 
medicines  and  directions,  and  was  glad  to  know  that  one  poor 
woman  at  least,  had  profited  a  little  by  this  costly  journey. 


BLOW   ON   BLOW  247 

And  then  the  long  ride  began.  The  long,  pitiless  miles 
dragged  themselves  on ,  one  by  one.  Morning  turned  to  noon 
and  noon  to  evening  and  evening  passed  quickly  into  night. 
And  tents  had  to  be  set  up  and  food  had  to  be  eaten  and  a 
few  hours  had  to  be  wasted  (as  it  seemed)  in  rest ;  for  there 
was  no  moon,  and  they  could  not  have  travelled  in  the  inky 
blackness,  even  if  their  endurance  could  have  held  out. 

From  Suj  Anak,  which  they  reached  the  next  day,  they 
were  able  to  send  a  telegram  to  Dr.  Franklin.  Here  Thorley 
would  have  left  the  ladies,  to  spare  them  the  cruel  haste  of  the 
journey ;  but  they  were  so  distressed  at  the  idea  and  prom- 
ised so  piteously  not  to  hinder  him  in  any  way  that  he  had 
to  give  it  up.  Indeed  he  was  only  too  glad  to  have  them  with 
him  and  told  them  so  with  an  emphasis  that  made  them  gasp. 
And  so  far  from  being  a  hindrance,  they  were  always  the  first 
to  be  ready  in  the  morning  and  the  last  to  favor  giving  up 
the  trail  at  night. 

Saturday  they  were  met  by  friends  from  Muramna,  who 
had  ridden  out  on  receiving  the  news  by  telegraph.  John 
Prescott  came  and  George  Whiting  and  the  father  and 
brother  of  Hilgar  and  two  of  the  native  pastors,  as  well  as  a 
delegation  of  Thorley's  men  from  Akbar.  Dr.  Lawrence  had 
tried  to  come  ;  but  at  the  last  moment  his  strength  left  him 
and  he  had  to  be  lifted  from  his  horse.  Dr.  Franklin  stayed 
behind  to  do  what  he  could  for  all  the  Lawrences.  And  Mr. 
Freyer  was  helping  the  ladies  to  make  everything  ready  for 
the  funeral. 

It  seemed  best  for  some  of  the  party  to  take  the  freshest 
of  the  horses  and  push  on  as  fast  as  they  could  to  the  city. 
The  others  would  follow  more  slowly,  but  all  would  hope  to 
reach  home  before  Sunday  was  over.  There  were  those  who 
would  have  relieved  Thorley  of  the  precious  burden  that  had 
been  his  through  these  days ;  but  he  would  not  have  it  so, 
though  his  going  with  the  advance  guard  meant  that  he  must 
leave  Jean  Stuart  to  the  escort  of  others.  She  watched 


248  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

him  ride  away,  haggard,  unshaven,  and  bowed  down  with  his 
sorrow ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  her  heart  were  breaking  with  the 
fear  that  he  next  would  be  the  victim  of  her  recklessness. 

So  Jean  Stuart  returned  to  Muramna ;  and  when  they 
reached  the  College,  she  besought  Dr.  MacColl  to  let  her 
stay  in  the  rooms  at  the  Hospital,  that  her  presence  at  the 
Lawrences'  might  not  be  an  added  bitterness  for  those  whom 
she  had  helped  to  bereave. 

"  I  don't  know  how  they  will  bear  it  ever  to  see  me  again," 
she  sobbed ;  for  at  last  Jean  Stuart  had  broken  down  after 
the  long  strain.  "They  will  all  hate  me  forever." 

Dr.  MacColl  gently  stroked  the  bright  head  that  lay  on 
her  knee.  "You'll  be  very  much  surprised,  dearie,  when 
you  do  see  Margaret  Lawrence.  There  isn't  anything  in 
her  heart  for  you  but  love  and  pity." 

Jean  lifted  her  face  swiftly.  "How  do  you  know?"  she 
cried.  "That  can't  be  !  She  hasn't  said  so?" 

"No,  dear.     Not  yet;  but  she  will." 

"I  wouldn't,"  she  declared,  "not  if  it  were  my  husband." 

Dr.  MacColl  smiled  very  sadly.  "Do  you  remember 
Dan's  sermon,"  she  said,  "that  last  Sunday  night?  'The 
power  to  pray  and  to  forgive  and  to  love '  ?  You  forget  that 
Margaret  has  all  that  to  help  her." 

"  It  won't  help  her  to  endure  me,"  Jean  persisted.  "Noth- 
ing will." 

Now  the  door  opened  quietly  and  Mrs.  Franklin  came  into 
the  room. 

"Jean  Stuart,"  she  said,  "is  she  here  ?  Oh,  yes.  I  have 
a  message  for  you,  dear  girl.  Margaret  Lawrence  has  just 
called  me  up  on  the  telephone.  Word  has  reached  her  in  the 
city,  of  your  arrival.  She  sends  you  her  dear  love  and  is 
glad  you  are  staying  here  for  a  good  night's  rest.  She  begs 
you  to  sleep  if  you  can ;  and  she  asks  that  if  you  are  able  in 
the  morning,  you  will  come  home  rather  early  and  help  her 
with  a  few  last  things  before  the  funeral." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THAT  BITTER  DAY 

EVEN  the  best  friends  of  Dan  Lawrence  were  surprised  at 
the  overwhelming  tokens  of  grief  at  his  death.  Men  of  all 
classes  in  the  city  gathered  to  do  him  honor ;  and  from  the 
whole  Plain  of  Muramna,  the  villagers  assembled  with  stories 
of  what  the  Kasha  Saib  had  done  for  them.  The  mourning 
for  him  was  hearty  and  sincere ;  but  the  native  friends  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  Dan's  family  and  colleagues,  restrain- 
ing the  expression  of  their  sorrow  with  a  self-control  which 
was  the  finest  tribute  that  could  have  been  paid  to  the  in- 
fluence on  them  of  Dan's  own  character. 

The  missionaries  held  first  a  little  service  in  English  just 
for  themselves.  Then  a  Syriac  service  took  place  in  the 
large  hall  of  the  College,  a  service  which  was  for  Hilgar,  the 
Nestorian  servant,  as  well  as  for  Dan  Lawrence.  After 
that,  loving  hands  and  strong  shoulders  bore  the  two  away 
to  their  final  resting-place  on  the  mountain  side  at  Akbar. 
For  the  missionaries  had  offered  to  bury  Hilgar  with  Dan ; 
and  Hilgar 's  family  thought  it  a  great  honor  that  the  place 
of  the  servant  should  still  be  at  the  side  of  his  master. 

Jean  Stuart  did  not  go  to  Akbar  with  the  others.  At  the 
last  moment  little  Ruth  was  taken  sick ;  and  Jean  begged 
permission  to  stay  with  her.  Long  before  the  return  from 
Akbar,  Ruth  was  able  to  be  taken  back  to  the  city ;  so  Jean, 
after  making  the  child  comfortable  on  the  sofa,  busied  her- 
self in  giving  the  sitting-room  a  cheerful  air,  and  in  seeing 
that  the  supper  was  as  appetizing  as  possible.  In  this  way 

249 


250 


THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 


she  hoped  to  dull  a  little  the  poignancy  of  her  own  feelings. 
Indeed,  she  had  suffered  that  day,  until  it  seemed  to  her  she 
could  not  suffer  any  more.  The  sight  of  Margaret's  calm- 
ness, of  the  children's  tear-stained  faces,  of  old  Dr.  Lawrence 
staggering  under  the  blow  but  kind  and  gentle  in  the  words 
he  spoke  even  about  the  murderers,  all  these  pierced  her  to 
the  heart.  Then,  too,  she  had  been  greatly  touched  by  the 
multitude  of  dark  faces,  which  she  had  seen  at  the  College 
service.  All  of  them  were  sorrowful;  many  of  them  were 
ravaged  by  grief ;  and  some  showed  an  understanding  of  the 
spirit  in  the  services,  which  Jean  could  not  claim  for  herself. 

One  group  of  faces  only,  bore  evidence  of  that  same  fierce 
resentment  and  desire  for  revenge,  which  she  felt.  These 
were  the  Kurds  who  had  been  her  travelling  companions. 
The  Sheikh  had  already  told  Thorley  Prescott  that  he  meant 
to  track  Hadji  Husain  and  kill  him  without  giving  him  a 
chance  to  slip  through  the  meshes  of  the  Persian  law.  Of 
this  intention,  Jean  did  not  then  know  definitely ;  but  she 
read  the  Chief's  feeling  in  his  burning  eyes,  and  discerned 
in  him  and  his  men  a  spirit  that  matched  her  own. 

It  surprised  her  very  much  not  to  find  a  like  sympathy 
with  Thorley  Prescott.  His  feelings  at  the  beginning  of 
the  homeward  journey  had  been,  as  she  well  knew,  vindic- 
tive enough ;  but  now  all  his  rage  seemed  to  have  died  away, 
leaving  only  a  profound  sorrow,  a  deep  contrition,  and  a 
great  longing  to  be  of  use.  And  he  had  been  of  the  very 
greatest  use.  It  was  he  who  had  seen  that  the  Boys'  Choir 
(trained  by  Margaret  Lawrence)  should  be  ready  to  sing 
Dan's  favorite  hymns.  It  was  he  who  arranged  with  the 
men  at  the  Treasury  and  the  Printing-house  that  Dan  should 
be  carried  all  the  way  to  Akbar  so  that  the  casket  might 
not  be  seen  jolting  about,  in  the  rude  wagon  that  was  all 
they  could  command  for  a  hearse.  It  was  on  his  arm  that 
,  Dr.  Lawrence  leaned  as  they  stood  at  the  grave.  It  was 
he  who  drove  the  Lawrence  buckboard  all  the  long  way  back 


THAT   BITTER   DAY  251 

to  the  city  because  the  horses  were  restless  from  standing 
and  wanted  to  run  home.  And  it  was  he  who  followed  the 
Lawrences  into  their  house  to  ask  what  he  could  do  for 
them  that  night. 

"I  shall  sleep  in  the  room  just  beyond  the  gangway," 
he  said.  "Be  sure  you  let  me  know  if  there  is  anything 
before  morning." 

Then  he  went  over  to  Jean,  saying  that  he  had  been  afraid 
she  was  ill  when  he  had  not  seen  her  at  Akbar. 

"No,  it  was  Ruth,"  Jean  answered,  "but  she  is  better." 

The  others  had  left  the  room  to  put  away  their  outdoor 
garments ;  so  Jean  added  hurriedly :  — 

"What  is  to  be  done  about  the  Hadji  ?  Are  they  taking 
measures  to  get  him  ?" 

"The  Governor  seems  really  stirred  up,"  said  Thorley. 
"Our  minister  at  Teheran  has  telegraphed  him;  and  the 
British  Consul  may  come  from  Tabriz.  They  won't  catch 
the  Hadji  because  he  is  in  Turkey  by  this  time ;  but  they'll 
make  him  understand  that  it  isn't  safe  to  come  back." 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  that?"  said  Jean,  scornfully. 
"Wouldn't  you  like  to  see  him  dead,  to  kill  him  with  your 
own  hands  if  necessary  ?  Will  you  let  your  friend's  death 
go  unavenged?" 

He  looked  at  her  steadily,  sadly.  "You  don't  under- 
stand, Jean,"  he  said  in  a  tone  that  somehow  reminded  her 
of  Dan,  "we  men  must  protect  the  women  and  children 
and  each  other.  We  must  have  the  murderer  punished  for 
a  warning  if  we  can.  But  in  Dan's  name,  for  our  own  sakes, 
and  for  the  sake  of  the  people,  you  and  I  and  all  of  us  must 
forgive  as  we  have  been  forgiven."  His  voice  sank  with 
the  last  words  and  the  big  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes  as  he 
added,  "I  didn't  see  that  to  begin  with;  but  since  I  came 
back,  my  friends  have  taught  me.  Have  you  heard  any- 
one reproaching  me  ?  Yet  I  was  the  cause  of  it  all ;  and 
even  Mrs.  Prescott  forbears  to  tell  me  so." 


252  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

He  heard  a  step  on  the  stairs  and  with  a  hasty  good  night, 
he  turned  to  leave  the  room,  feeling  that  this  was  not  the 
time  to  intrude  on  the  family. 

"Well,"  thought  Jean,  looking  after  him,  "when  it  conies 
to  the  point,  he  does  their  Christianity  after  all ;  and  that 
leaves  me  alone,  unless  I  turn  Mohammedan  !" 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

AFTERWARD 

THE  night  of  the  funeral  it  began  to  rain ;  and  it  rained 
steadily  for  three  days.  It  was,  besides,  the  beginning  of 
Moharrem.  Religious  processions  could  be  heard  making 
their  way  through  the  slimy  streets.  The  Mohammedans 
were  celebrating  the  martydom  of  Hassan  and  Husain, 
who  had  been  killed  in  battle  not  long  after  the  death  of 
Mohammed.  Over  the  wrongs  of  these  two,  they  worked 
themselves  into  a  frenzy ;  and  as  the  days  went  on,  men  were 
often  seen  in  the  streets  slashing  their  breasts  with  knives 
and  streaming  with  blood.  This  atmosphere  of  fanatical 
excitement  added  its  share  to  the  discomfort  of  the  mission- 
aries, besides  distracting  the  attention  of  the  civic  authori- 
ties from  their  cause. 

The  days  dragged  on  very  slowly  and  very  full  of  work 
and  anxiety.  Hundreds  of  women  of  all  ranks  came  to  call 
on  Margaret  Lawrence  to  "heal  her  head."  She  saw  them 
all,  talked  with-  them  calmly  about  her  sorrow,  explained 
to  them  the  hopes  that  encouraged  her  to  take  up  life  again 
and  the  motives  that  made  it  impossible  to  curse  the  mur- 
derer or  to  indulge  in  ostentatious  grief.  She  made  no  sign, 
when,  with  unintentional  brutality,  they  turned  the  knife 
in  her  wounds ;  and  she  sent  them  away  marvelling  at  the 
religion  that  could  work  such  wonders  in  a  human  heart. 

Jean  Stuart  resented  with  all  her  might  this  untimely 
and  exorbitant  demand  on  the  missionary  spirit.  She 
begged  Margaret  to  send  the  women  away  and  to  take  the 
rest  she  needed  for  herself.  Margaret  only  said  that  it  was 

253 


254  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

a  great  opportunity  and  went  quietly  on  her  way.  Then 
Jean  fell  to  and  began  helping  her.  It  being  the  Persian 
custom  in  a  house  of  mourning  to  serve  each  caller  with  a 
tiny  cup  of  coffee,  Jean  took  this  part  of  the  work  upon 
herself. 

" Whatever  should  I  have  done  without  you?"  said  Mar- 
garet one  evening  after  Jean  had  stood  by  her  through  an 
unusually  long  and  trying  session.  Jean  made  her  lie  down 
and  brought  her  a  glass  of  water  before  saying  anything. 
Then  she  knelt  by  the  sofa  and  taking  Margaret's  hand, 
rubbed  her  cheek  against  it. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  "that  I  was  going  to  tele- 
graph some  friends  of  mine  to  come  up  from  Bushire  and  take 
me  home." 

Margaret  started  up  and  looked  very  mournfully  at  her. 

"I  planned  this,"  Jean  went  on,  "before  I  went  to  Kurdis- 
tan. I  meant  them  to  get  here  about  the  time  my  contract 
should  expire.  It's  time  now  to  telegraph;  and  I  should 
think  you  would  be  glad  to  have  me  go ;  but  if  I  could  help 
you  by  staying  — 

Margaret  Lawrence  sat  up  and  put  her  arms  around 
Jean's  neck.  "Oh  Jean,"  she  sobbed,  "don't  leave  me  yet, 
unless  you  must." 

And  Jean  went  away  to  her  room,  a  little  comforted. 

That  evening  she  wheedled  Margaret  into  going  to  bed 
early.  She  herself  sat  down  alone  in  the  sitting-room  to 
darn  the  children's  stockings. 

Here  Thorley  Prescott  found  her  when  he  came  to  inquire 
for  the  health  of  the  family.  That  at  least  was  the  reason 
he  gave  for  his  coming  and  he  justified  it  by  making  inquiries 
that  were  both  minute  and  voluble  —  for  him. 

An  the  time,  his  eyes  were  on  the  stocking  Jean  continued 
to  darn,  and  at  last  he  burst  out  with  an  abrupt  return  to 
his  old  blunt  manner  :— 

"  You  darning  stockings  !    I  bet  they'll  be  lumpy  !" 


AFTERWARD  255 

Jean  held  out  to  him  the  one  that  was  stretched  over  her 
tand ;  and  he  examined  it  with  a  care  that  made  her  smile. 

"Perfectly  flat,"  he  admitted  at  last,  "and  very  neat. 
What  is  there  that  you  can't  do  well  ?  " 

"I  can't  thank  you  as  well  as  I  should  like,  for  the  first 
compliment  you  have  ever  paid  me.  I'm  too  much  sur- 
prised." She  beamed  at  him,  pleased  that  they  should  be 
talking  together  again,  in  the  old  natural  way. 

And  now  he  sat  silent,  clearing  his  throat  from  time  to 
time ;  and  she,  seeing  that  he  was  getting  ready  to  speak, 
waited  quietly  and  went  on  sewing. 

At  last  he  lifted  his  head  to  say :  - 

"To-day  when  I  was  in  the  cemetery,  I  wondered  if  you 
would  care  to  see  Dan's  grave."  He  paused,  as  if  for  an 
answer.  Jean  hesitated. 

"Don't  go  if  it  would  be  painful  to  you,"  said  Thorley. 
"I  didn't  know." 

"Do  you  mean,"  asked  Jean,  "that  you  are  suggesting 
my  going  at  any  particular  time  ?" 

"Yes.  I  rode  down  to  ask  if  you  would  go  to-morrow. 
Father  is  to  be  with  me ;  and  the  Sheikh  insists  on  my 
bringing  an  escort  always." 

Jean's  eyes  searched  his  face.  "I'm  glad  he  rides  with 
you,"  she  said. 

"It's  all  nonsense,"  he  answered,  "for  the  Hadji  is  in 
Turkey ;  but  it  pleases  my  father,  so  I  let  Ismaili  and  his 
men  dog  me." 

"I'm  glad,"  said  Jean.     "It  relieves  me  —  a  little." 

Thorley's  face  lit  up  with  a  smile  that  died  away  again 
very  suddenly. 

"Do  you  care  to  go  ?"  he  asked  with  his  eyes  on  the  floor. 

"Let  me  ask  Mrs.  Lawrence  what  there  is  to  do  here.  I 
don't  like  to  leave  her  with  extra  work  on  her  hands." 

He  rose  as  she  left  the  room  and  paced  restlessly  around 
until  her  return.  "I  wish  I  could  really  do  something  for 


256  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

her,"  he  mused.  "This  isn't  anything,  but  it  will  give  her 
a  few  hours  in  the  open  air.  I  know  she  loves  that ;  but 
she  wouldn't  go  for  pleasure  now." 

When  Jean  came  back  she  said  that  she  would  accept  Mr. 
Prescott's  kindness,  if  he  would  start  early  so  as  to  get  her 
back  in  time  to  help  with  callers  in  the  afternoon. 

"In  that  case  we  had  better  start  at  six,"  said  Thorley. 
"I  want  also  to  show  you  something  connected  with  Our 
Work.  You  haven't  inspected  it  for  a  very  long  time." 

"I'll  be  ready,"  said  Jean.  "You  were  good  to  think 
of  asking  me,  and  you'll  be  glad  to  know  that  Mrs.  Lawrence 
is  pleased  at  my  going.  She  asks  us  to  find  some  flowers 
for  the  grave,  if  possible.  She  thinks  the  wild  hyacinths  may 
be  in  bloom." 

She  looked  questioningly  at  him.  His  eyes  gleamed  with 
satisfaction ;  but  he  only  said :  — 

"We'll  do  what  we  can.  I'm  glad  you're  going.  Good 
night." 

She  detained  him.  "One  thing  more,"  she  said  in  a  ner- 
vous way  not  at  all  natural  to  her.  "I  hope  you  are  not 
intending  to  ride  down  with  us." 

"Surely  I  am." 

"I'm  going  to  ask  you  not  to." 

"Why?" 

"That  is,  unless  you  expect  to  spend  the  night  here.  I 
can't  bear  to  think  of  your  riding  up  again  so  near  night- 
fall." 

He  laughed  out  and  checked  himself  with  a  look  of  com- 
punction. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Jean.  "We  all  laugh  —  when  we 
can." 

"I  know,"  he  said,  "but  it  doesn't  seem  right  for  me  to 
come  in  and  laugh." 

She  laughed  at  that,  a  little.  "Then  it's  settled,"  she 
pursued,  "that  I  am  to  ride  back  with  your  father." 


AFTERWARD  257 

"Not  at  all,"  he  declared.  "I  won't  take  you  one  step, 
unless  you  will  let  me  see  for  myself  that  you  get  back 
safely." 

"Ah,"  she  breathed,  "then  you  do  think  there  is  danger; 
and  yet  you  will  ride  back  and  forth." 

"We'll  give  it  up,"  he  said  brusquely.  "I  won't  take 
you  if  you  feel  like  that." 

"Not  for  myself,"  she  cried.  "Please  don't  think  so. 
It's  only  that  I'm  afraid  for  you." 

She  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
ashamed  that  he  should  see  how  unnerved  she  was. 

He  stood  looking  at  her,  sorry  that  she  should  be  upset, 
yet  with  a  strange  wild  pleasure  which  he  could  not  under- 
stand, tugging  at  his  heart. 

"Jean,"  he  said  at  last,  "believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that 
if  I  were  in  danger  of  being  shot,  I  should  not  dream  of  tak- 
ing you  outside  the  city.  And  if  you  don't  cheer  up  pretty 
quickly,  I  won't  take  you  anyway." 

At  this,  Jean  uncovered  her  face;  but  could  think  of 
nothing  more  brilliant  to  say  than  that  he  would  have  to 
take  her  now  because  he  had  promised. 

"At  six  o'clock,  then,"  he  said  ;  "good  night." 

The  touch  of  her  hand  gave  him  such  a  thrill  of  joy  that 
he  strode  away  cursing  himself  for  a  disloyal  lover  and  an 
unfaithful  friend. 

"After  this,"  he  muttered,  "I  won't  trust  myself  to  go 
near  her.  I  thought  Dan's  death  had  sobered  me  enough 
to  keep  me  from  feeling  that  way  now." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

OUR  WORK  AGAIN 

IN  good  time  the  next  morning,  Jean  Stuart  and  the  two 
Prescotts  reached  Akbar.  They  had  been  delayed  a  little 
because  the  river  was  swollen  with  the  recent  rains.  At 
the  first  ford  they  .were  obliged  to  let  their  horses  swim  part 
way.  This  caused  them  to  go  around  by  the  longer  road 
to  avoid  the  other  two  crossings.  Yet  their  horses  were 
so  eager  in  the  freshness  of  the  early  morning,  that  they 
made  the  whole  trip  in  about  the  usual  time. 

"It's  a  pleasure  to  ride  with  such  a  horsewoman,"  said 
Mr.  Prescott  as  he  helped  Miss  Stuart  dismount.  "There's 
no  need  for  making  concession  to  feminine  weakness  when 
you  are  of  the  party." 

"Dr.  MacColl  is  just  the  same  kind,"  said  Thorley.  "I 
never  was  delayed  a  minute  by  either  of  'em.  Now  will 
you  people  rest  in  the  house  while  I  see  to  the  men,  or  will 
you  make  the  rounds  with  me  ?  " 

"I'd  like  to  make  the  rounds,"  said  Jean,  promptly. 
The  brisk  ride  in  the  warm  sunshine  had  restored  color  to 
her  cheeks  and  light  to  her  eyes.  Thorley  was  elated  at 
seeing  her  look  like  herself  again. 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you  youngsters  to  be  so  energetic," 
said  Mr.  Prescott,  "but  I  confess  I  should  like  a  cup  of 
coffee  before  I  start  on  anything  as  arduous  as  Thor's 
rounds." 

"Oh  yes,  I  told  the  cook  to  have  some  ready  for  us.  At 
last  he  has  learned  to  make  it  Father's  way." 

258 


OUR    WORK   AGAIN  259 

Thorley  led  them,  as  he  spoke,  into  the  end  house,  the 
upper  story  of  which  was  still  reserved  for  the  use  of  the 
missionaries.  They  took  their  coffee  in  the  same  room  where 
they  had  been  eating  dinner  when  the  news  was  brought 
that  Isaac  of  Arawan  had  been  shot.  The  scene  came  back 
vividly  to  Jean  as  she  drank.  She  was  glad  to  finish  quickly 
and  go  out  again  into  the  spring  day. 

She  and  Mr.  Prescott  followed  Thorley  all  around  the 
works.  She  saw  the  men  excavating  for  the  permanent 
addition  to  the  first  rough  little  reservoir,  saw  the  begin- 
nings of  the  trenches  where  the  pipes  were  to  be  laid  that 
would  carry  running  water  to  the  city  Compound  and  the 
College.  She  saw  the  fields  where  the  wheat  had  just  been 
sowed  that  would  feed  all  the  mission  schools  through  the 
next  winter.  Most  wonderful  of  all,  she  saw  a  band  of 
clean,  intelligent  workmen,  and  could  not  believe  that  they 
were  the  crowd  of  ruffians  at  whom  she  had  shuddered  in 
the  fall. 

"Surely  these  are  not  the  same  men  who  were  here  last 
December,"  she  murmured  to  Mr.  John  Prescott. 

"The  very  same,"  he  answered  triumphantly.  "Haven't 
they  changed,  though  !  But  you  must  go  down  to  the  vil- 
lage and  see  their  homes.  There's  a  sight  for  Persia  — 
contented  women  and  healthy  children  ! " 

Thorley  returned  to  them  at  this  moment.  "What  are 
you  bragging  about,  Father?"  he  asked  with  affectionate 
raillery. 

Gratification  radiated  from  Mr.  Prescott.  "Miss  Stuart 
didn't  recognize  these  men,"  he  said.  "She  thought  they 
were  some  that  you  had  polished  up  for  the  occasion." 

"They  have  changed,  haven't  they?"  said  Thorley  much 
pleased. 

Then  his  face  sobered.  "The  trouble  is,  though,  that  I 
ought  to  let  most  of  them  go  next  week;  and  I  doubt  if 
the  Station  will  let  me  get  a  fresh  lot." 


260  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

"What's  the  matter  ?"  said  Jean.  "Is  the  money  giving 
out?" 

"We  have  money  in  the  bank.  You  know  that.  We've 
been  selling  water-pipes,  you  know,  and  we  could  sell  enough 
more  to  pay  for  the  reservoir  and  the  waterway  to  the  city. 
Only  most  of  these  men  have  little  plots  of  ground  some- 
where, from  which  they  might  get  enough  this  summer  to 
feed  them  scantily  next  winter.  It  was  the  failure  of  these 
crops  last  summer  that  threw  them  on  our  hands." 

"What  reason  is  there  to  think  they  won't  fail  this  sum- 
mer ?  "  asked  Jean. 

"Well,  it's  a  risk,  of  course,  but  it's  one  that  farmers  take 
all  over  the  world ;  only  these  men  don't  know  how  to  guard 
against  failure.  If  I  could  keep  them  here  one  summer,  I 
could  show  them  a  thing  or  two;  that  is,  I  think  I  could." 

He  squared  his  shoulders  and  smiled,  looking  so  capable 
that  it  would  have  been  hard  for  any  one  to  doubt  his  ability. 
His  present  listeners  perhaps  were  not  very  hard  to  convince. 

"But  if  I  let  them  go,  I  must  do  it  right  off;  for  they 
ought  to  be  planting.  Most  of  them  did  go  away  while  I 
was  in  Kurdistan ;  but  the  ground  was  too  hard  for  them  to 
do  much  ;  and  they  all  flocked  back  to  me  when  they  heard 
about  Dan." 

"Why  was  that?"  asked  Jean. 

"Well,  I  hardly  know.  Some  of  them  perhaps  were 
frightened  and  felt  safer  inside  our  walls;  but  it  did  seem 
as  if  most  of  them  came  just  because  they  wanted  to  stand 
by  me." 

"That  must  have  pleased  you,"  cried  Jean. 

"It  did,"  said  Thorley  the  Taciturn. 

"But  you  haven't  told  me,"  said  Jean,  as  they  turned 
back  toward  the  house,  "why  there  is  any  question  about 
sending  these  men  away.  If  they  are  comfortable  here  and 
if  there  will  be  work  for  them  all  summer  and  enough  to 
last  over  into  next  winter  so  that  they  won't  suffer  from  the 


OUR   WORK  AGAIN  261 

loss  of  a  year's  crops,  why  isn't  it  better  to  let  them  stay, 
especially  if  you  can  teach  them  to  make  more  out  of  their 
land  in  the  future  ?" 

Thorley  hesitated. 

"The  difficulty  is  this,  Miss  Stuart,"  interposed  John 
Prescott,  "that  to  continue  industrial  work  on  so  large  a 
scale  after  it  has  ceased  to  be  immediately  necessary  for 
famine  relief,  is  a  departure  from  the  evangelical  method  of 
conducting  mission  work.  And  to  such  a  departure,  some 
of  our  colleagues  are  very  much  opposed." 

The  look  of  absolute  bewilderment  on  Jean's  face,  forced 
a  short  laugh  from  Thorley.  She  put  out  her  hand  to  check 
him,  saying  courteously  to  the  older  man :  — 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  quite  understand.  Will  you  excuse 
my  stupidity  and  explain  a  little  more  ?" 

"I'll  translate,"  said  Thorley.  "Father  means  that  some 
missionaries  think  that  all  mission  work  is  wasted  which  is 
not  directly  religious.  This  is  called  the  evangelical  basis. 
In  the  past  some  missionaries  have  grudged  even  the  time 
spent  in  the  secular  part  of  educational  work.  No  one  here, 
thank  goodness,  goes  to  that  extreme.  But  several  of  the 
Station  feel  that  except  in  time  of  famine,  industrial  work 
is  a  waste  of  the  energy  that  should  be  put  into  preaching." 

"Oh,"  said  Jean,  "but  I  thought  you  weren't  expected 
to  preach,  anyway." 

"If  I  wasn't  working  here,"  said  Thorley,  "I  could  go 
back  to  the  Treasury  and  the  Press  ;  and  the  rest  could  do 
more  preaching.  Since  Mr.  Freyer's  recovery,  he  has  been 
helping  Dr.  Lawrence  with  the  Press,  besides  running  the 
Treasury  with  Standish  under  him ;  but  now  that  spring 
has  come,  they  ought  both  to  be  left  free  for  touring,  and 
really,  I  don't  know  who  will  do  that  part  of  the  work  if  I 
don't." 

"It  is  a  grave  question  under  the  present  circumstances," 
said  Mr.  Prescott.  "The  new  man  for  whom  we  shall  have 


262  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

to  ask  the  Board,  cannot  possibly  get  here  before  the  fall, 
if  then.  Meantime  Dan's  place  is  empty  and  Thorley's 
old  place  in  the  city  as  well.  It  comes  to  this :  whether 
the  work  at  Akbar  is  important  enough  to  be  kept  up  at  any 
cost.  I  believe  it  is,  and  I  have  a  plan  for  making  it  possible. 
Only  I  do  think  that  the  men  whose  farms  warrant  it,  should 
be  encouraged  to  return  to  them." 

"I  think  so,  too,"  said  Thorley.  "I  shall  send  a  lot  away 
on  Monday,  but  I  want  permission  to  hire  men  in  their 
places  if  the  work  warrants  it.  I  want  to  make  this  thing 
a  business.  I  believe  the  success  of  a  Christian  business 
would  do  more  for  Persia  than  any  amount  of  preach- 
ing." 

"When  is  it  to  be  decided  ?"  asked  Jean. 

"I  doubt  if  it  can  be  discussed  day  after  to-morrow,"  said 
Mr.  Prescott,  gravely,  turning  to  his  son.  "There  will  be 
too  much  else." 

"I  hope  they  won't  bring  it  up,"  agreed  Thorley.  "It 
would  be  a  shame  to  quarrel,  after  passing  resolutions  about 
Dan  and  asking  for  a  man  to  take  his  place." 

"But  why  need  you  quarrel  ? ' '  asked  Jean .  "If  the  money 
is  supplied  and  you  are  willing  to  do  the  work,  what  right 
have  the  others  to  interfere?" 

"Technically,"  answered  Thorley,  "this  work  belongs 
to  the  Station  —  not  to  me,"  he  paused  to  smile  ruefully 
at  her,  "nor  even  to  you." 

"If  it  did  belong  to  me,"  cried  Jean,  "I  should  let  you  do 
it  exactly  as  you  thought  best." 

He  thanked  her  with  a  look,  while  Mr.  Prescott  summoned 
his  courage  to  ask  hesitantly,  — 

"Then  you  would  not  be  willing  that  the  balance  of  the 
money  should  be  diverted  into  another  channel  ?" 

"Certainly  not,"  she  flashed.  Then,  as  a  new  thought 
struck  her,  "You  don't  mean  that  they  are  getting  up  a 
scheme  to  use  it  for  evangelical  purposes  !" 


OUR   WORK   AGAIN  263 

Thorley  laughed  outright.  "As  usual  you've  hit  the 
nail  on  the  head,"  he  applauded. 

"Perhaps  we  should  not  have  spoken  of  it,"  said  Mr. 
Prescott. 

"Since  you  have,"  demanded  Jean,  "you  will  please  tell 
me  what  the  scheme  is." 

John  Prescott  looked  at  her,  half  frightened,  and  was 
silent. 

"  Certainly  we'll  tell  you,"  Thorley  put  in.  "They  want 
to  buy  land  for  a  church  in  the  city  and  begin  building  it." 

"There's  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Prescott  mildly,  "that  the 
church  is  very  much  needed." 

They  had  been  standing  in  front  of  the  end  house  for  some 
minutes.  The  pipe  factory  and  some  of  the  new  trenches 
could  be  seen  from  where  they  stood;  and  Jean  moved  a 
little  so  that  she  could  look  back  at  the  reservoir. 

"They  want  you  to  leave  all  this  just  where  it  is,"  she 
said,  slowly,  "and  let  the  natives  think  that  your  winter's 
work  was  all  a  bluff,  that  they  can  come  to  you  any  time 
when  they  have  been  shiftless  and  imprudent  and  get  you 
to  start  an  industry  with  no  regard  for  its  commercial 
value  ? 

"I  gave  my  money  for  this  work,  and  I  will  not  have  one 
chahi  of  it  used  for  any  other  purpose.  If  it  is  not  used  for 
this,  it  shall  lie  idle." 

She  walked  into  the  house  as  she  spoke;  and  the  two 
men  followed  her,  Mr.  Prescott  whispering  apprehensively 
to  his  son,  "I  hope  no  one  will  think  we  have  prejudiced 
her  mind." 

"I  don't  care  a  d-darn  what  any  one  thinks  !"  declared 
Thorley  with  pride  in  his  voice  and  something  more  potent 
than  pride  in  the  look  he  sent  after  the  stately  figure  of 
Miss  Stuart. 

"How  she  understands!"  he  was  thinking.  "And  how 
she  speaks  and  how  she  looks !  To-day  I  won't  miss  one 


264  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

flicker  of  her  eyelids;  for  after  this — "  and  he  hurried  to 
catch  up  with  her  so  that  he  might  not  waste  another 
moment. 

"Are  you  tired,"  he  asked,  "or  cold?  If  not,  shall  we 
start  out  again  very  soon  ?  I  have  something  to  show  you 
before  we  go,"  his  eager  voice  fell,  "to  the  cemetery." 


CHAPTER  XXXVn 

REVELATIONS 

"ARE  you  good  for  a  little  climb  ?"  asked  Thorley,  as  he 
led  Jean  into  the  path  to  his  cabin. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  answered  happily,  "I  know  this  path ;  and 
the  view  from  your  roof  will  be  beautiful  to-day." 

"It's  something  else  that  I  have  to  show  you  now,"  said 
Thorley.  "  Give  me  your  hand,  please.  I  must  pull  you 
up  the  steepest  places." 

She  let  him  help  her  into  a  side  path  very  steep  and  slip- 
pery. After  a  few  minutes  of  breathless  climbing,  they 
emerged  into  a  little  open  sunny  spot  where  the  ground 
was  overlaid  with  a  glistening  cover  of  wild  white  hyacinths. 
In  a  moment  Jean  was  on  her  knees  among  them,  putting 
down  her  face  to  caress  the  lovely  things  and  to  drink  in 
their  perfume. 

"I  thought  she'd  like  them."  Thorley  smiled  as  he  said 
the  words  to  himself.  Aloud  he  presently  added,  "Shall 
I  begin  picking  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  please.  You  pick ;  and  I'll  make  them  into  a 
great  big,  beautiful  wreath."  Jean  sat  down  on  the  ground ; 
but  Thorley  silently  placed  his  coat  at  one  side  for  her  to 
sit  on ;  and  she  had  the  good  sense  this  time  to  do  as  he  wished 
without  protest. 

When  the  wreath  was  nearly  finished,  she  spied  a  few 
purple  irises  growing  by  themselves.  "  Please  get  me  those," 
she  said  to  Thorley,  "and  then  we  shall  have  Dan's  two 
colors  :  white  for  the  saint  and  purple  for  the  conqueror." 
Her  voice  broke  ;  and  she  bent  low  over  the  wreath  to  hide 
her  face. 

265 


266  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Thorley  got  her  the  flowers  without  a  word  and  watched 
as  she  wove  them  into  the  wreath. 

"He  was  a  conqueror,"  he  said  very  low,  as  she  held  it 
up  for  him  to  see.  "I  guess  no  one  knew  how  hard  it  was 
for  him  always  to  be  cheerful  and  brave  and  contented." 
He  smiled  down  at  her  as  he  said  the  last  word,  "but  he 
conquered  himself ;  and  now  - 

Jean  rose  and  began  picking  flowers  as  fast  as  she  could. 
"Now,"  she  said  hesitating  and  turning  her  face  away,  "I 
think  he  has  left  plenty  of  work  for  us  others  to  do,  who 
haven't  conquered  ourselves  to  speak  of.  I  mean  myself," 
she  burst  out,  turning  impulsively  back  to  Thorley,  her 
arms  full  of  flowers  and  her  face  beautiful  with  an  expres- 
sion he  had  never  seen  on  it. 

"Sometimes  in  these  last  days  since  I've  been  helping 
Margaret,  even  I  have  wished  I  could  learn  to  be  like  them, 
praying  and  loving  and  giving.  I  don't  know  that  I  ever 
could  learn  to  forgive  or  that  I  want  to  learn  that.  But 
last  night  I  tried  to  pray  a  little ;  and  it  seemed  almost  as 
if  Somebody  heard  and  came  near  to  comfort  me." 

"Ah,  Jean,"  he  said, with  shining  eyes,  "I  hope  Dan  hears 
you  now,  and  I  know  God  does." 

"  You  know  God  hears  ?  "  cried  Jean. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "I  learned  that  here  last 
winter  when  I  was  all  alone  on  my  cabin  roof  at  night. 
The  days  were  full  of  such  work  as  I  thought  a  Creator  God 
must  love.  The  nights  were  still  and  lonely.  I  got  to 
thinking  out  loud  about  what  I  had  done  that  day  and  what 
I  had  better  do  next.  I  got  to  feeling  how  great  the  work 
was  and  how  much  I  needed  big  help,  the  kind  that  you 
can't  get  from  any  other  man.  And  the  first  I  knew  I  was 
looking  up  at  the  stars  and  asking." 

There  was  a  silence  between  them  for  a  long  minute,  Jean 
looking  at  Thorley,  Thorley  gazing  above  her  head. 

"After  that,"  he  went  on,  "the  things  I  had  stopped  be- 


REVELATIONS  267 

lieving  didn't  matter.  I  knew.  And  I  have  gone  on  learn- 
ing little  by  little  ever  since.  No  man  can  take  away  from 
me  now  what  I  have  learned." 

Jean  came  closer  to  him  and  laid  one  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Some  night  when  you  are  looking  at  the  stars,"  she 
whispered,  "ask  Him  to  teach  me  too." 

"I  have,"  he  answered,  smiling  into  her  eyes.  Then  he 
stooped  to  pick  up  the  flowers  she  had  dropped  ;  and  she 
remembered  suddenly  why  they  were  there  and  began  pick- 
ing again  as  if  her  life  depended  on  it. 

When  they  started  down  the  path  Thorley's  coat  was  full 
of  loose  flowers  ;  and  the  great  wreath  hung  around  Jean's 
neck. 

They  went  straight  to  the  cemetery,  saying  little  as  they 
went,  and  hushed  to  absolute  silence  when  they  reached 
Dan's  grave.  No  stone  had  yet  been  placed  there;  so 
Jean  laid  the  wreath  on  the  grave  itself  and  scattered  loose 
flowers  to  cover  all  the  rest  of  the  mound.  Then,  with 
deft  fingers,  she  gathered  up  the  hyacinths  that  were  left, 
making  them  into  two  loose  bunches.  The  smaller  she 
placed  on  Hilgar's  grave  and  the  larger  she  held  out  to 
Thorley. 

"Perhaps  you  will  like  to  put  it  on  your  mother's  grave," 
she  said  very  softly. 

He  took  the  hand  that  held  the  flowers  and  drew  her  with 
him  to  the  other  side  of  the  little  cemetery.  There  he 
knelt  beside  a  myrtle-covered  mound  and  together  they 
placed  the  fragrant  flowers  on  it.  Then  as  he  rose  from  his 
knees  and  stood  back  to  let  her  read  the  inscription  on  the 
stone,  suddenly  there  was  a  loud  report  as  if  a  cannon  had 
gone  off  not  far  from  them. 

To  Jean  it  seemed  that  Hadji  Husain  had  appeared  in 
the  flesh,  firing  at  Thorley.  With  one  wild  cry,  she  threw 
herself  in  front  of  him,  spreading  out  her  arms  to  shield  him 
with  her  body. 


268  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"Oh,  Thorley,"  she  cried,  "I  won't  let  him  get  you." 

"  Jean,"  he  said,  "  my  men  are  blasting  with  gunpowder." 

She  looked  at  him  with  wide  eyes,  refusing  to  be  convinced 
and  trembling  so  that  she  could  hardly  stand.  He  repeated 
his  assurances  of  safety  with  every  detail  that  he  thought 
might  convince  her.  At  last  he  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and 
turned  her  so  that  she  could  see  the  figure  of  his  father  stand- 
ing on  the  roof  of  the  end  house  and  looking  unconcernedly 
in  the  direction  of  the  reservoir,  whence  smoke  was  rising. 

Suddenly  she  understood,  wrenched  herself  away  from 
him,  and  moved  swiftly  toward  the  gate  of  the  cemetery. 
In  her  nervous  haste  she  could  not  unlatch  it ;  and  Thorley 
hurried  to  help  her,  still  urging  her  not  to  be  afraid ;  for  he 
could  not  understand  why  she  should  still  be  troubled. 

Before  he  opened  the  gate,  he  bent  his  head  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  her  face.  She  did  not  seem  frightened  exactly, 
though  she  was  trembling ;  but  the  minute  her  eyes  met 
his,  they  filled  with  angry  tears,  the  bright  color  flamed 
all  over  her  face,  her  hands  clenched  each  other  so  that  the 
nails  sank  into  the  flesh ;  and  she  turned  her  back  on  him 
almost  with  violence. 

Still  puzzled,  he  stood  behind  her,  watching  the  crimson 
creep  into  her  neck  and  hearing  the  dry  sobs  that  she  forced 
back  into  her  throat. 

"Jean,"  he  cried,  "what  is  the  matter?" 

For  one  breathless  instant  she  faced  him.  "Never  call 
me  that  again,"  she  commanded. 

"Look  at  me,"  he  said  quietly.  "What  have  I  done  to 
make  you  angry  ?  You  must  tell  me."  He  spoke  so  sternly 
that  she  had  to  obey  him. 

Slowly  she  turned  toward  him,  slowly  she  raised  her  eyes 
to  his.  But  in  that  second  he  saw. 

"Jean,"  he  cried,  "you  love  me  !" 

"Hush,"  she  said,  "how  dare  you?  How  can  you  — 
here  ?  Open  that  gate  and  let  me  go." 


REVELATIONS  269 

"If  I  let  you  go  now,  will  you  talk  with  me  later  ?"  His 
hand  was  on  the  latch. 

"No,  never  as  long  as  I  live,"  she  cried,  and  she  burst  into 
tears  and  sank  in  a  little  heap  by  the  fence. 

He  turned  away  then  and  stood  at  a  distance  until  she 
was  quieter. 

"Please  call  me,"  he  said  over  his  shoulder,  "when  you're 
ready  to  have  the  gate  opened." 

"Now,  if  you  please,"  she  answered  in  a  voice  subdued 
by  weeping. 

So  he  went  back  to  her.  She  was  calmer  now ;  and  she 
faced  him,  still  defiant.  "Remember,  you  are  not  to  say 
one  word,"  she  said. 

"Jean,"  he  answered,  "if  you  don't  love  me,  this  is  the 
time  to  tell  me  so  calmly.  But  you  will  have  to  look  in  my 
eyes  and  say  it  without  anger." 

She  tried  to  face  him,  failed,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 
Then  he  opened  the  gate. 

"There's  a  bench  outside  where  you  can  sit  down,"  he 
said.  He  took  her  arm  and  led  her  to  it. 

"Jean,"  he  resumed,  standing  in  front  of  her,  "you're 
right  in  saying  that  this  is  not  the  time  for  me  to  speak.  I 
will  write  to-night  and  insist  on  being  given  rny  freedom. 
Then  I  will  come  to  you  again.  Now  I  will  leave  you  for 
a  few  minutes.  When  you're  ready,  please  call.  We'll 
go  back  to  the  house  and  have  lunch.  The  horses  shall  be 
ready  immediately  afterwards." 

"Mr.  Prescott,"  said  Jean.  She  sat  very  straight  on  the 
bench  and  she  seemed  to  have  recovered  all  her  self-control 
and  dignity  while  he  was  speaking. 

"Not  now,  please,"  he  said,  walking  away. 

"Now,"  she  insisted,  "I  must  ask  you  to  hear  a  few 
words." 

He  came  back  and  stood  before  her  again. 

"You  have  misunderstood  me  completely.    Let  me  ex- 


270  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

plain  to  you  once  for  all  that  I  never  could  love  any  man 
enough  to  allow  of  his  breaking  a  promise  of  marriage  for 
me.  If  you  break  your  engagement,  it  will  be  at  your  own 
risk.  I  will  not  marry  you  in  any  case;  nor  is  there  any 
power  strong  enough  to  make  me  change  my  mind,  even  if 
I  loved  you." 

"I  will  break  my  engagement,"  said  Thorley.  "I'll 
make  her  break  it  now.  When  I  wrote  before,  it  was  simply 
on  her  account,  because  I  knew  I  couldn't  love  her  enough. 
I  had  no  hope  then  of  winning  you." 

"When  you  wrote  before?"  asked  Jean,  her  curiosity 
getting  the  upper  hand.  "Did  you  tell  her  you  didn't  love 
her ,  and  did  she  keep  you  to  your  word  ?  " 

"I  told  her  I  loved  you." 

"And  she  said?" 

"She  said  she  would  not  take  amiss  anything  I  did  or 
omitted  to  do  and  she  believed  all  would  yet  come  out  right, 
if  we  held  to  our  trust  in  each  other." 

"And  she  still  speaks  of  marrying  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  she  never  got  your  letter.  Have  you  ever  men- 
tioned me  again  ?  Has  she  ever  spoken  of  me  ?" 

"No." 

"Then  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  sensible,  let  your  engage- 
ment stand  for  the  present  at  least.  Your  fiancee  is  evi- 
dently ignorant  that  your  fancy  has  ever  strayed  from  her. 
Let  her  remain  in  ignorance.  I  am  soon  going  away." 

"  Going  away  ?  "  he  cried. 

"Did  you  suppose  I  would  stay  in  this  place  forever?" 
She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  began  to  walk  rapidly  toward 
the  house.  "I  have  an  important  lawsuit  at  home  that 
needs  my  attention.  Some  friends  are  waiting  at  Bushire 
for  me  to  summon  them  as  escorts.  I  shall  telegraph  them 
to-day." 

"Jean,"  said  Thorley,  striding  along  beside  her,  and  speak- 


REVELATIONS  271 

ing  very  solemnly.  "I  believe  that  letter  has  been  lost. 
I  will  write  another  to-night.  The  answer  may  get  here 
before  you  leave.  If  not,  I  will  follow  you  to  America." 

"Remember  how  you  feel  about  a  promise."  Her  tone 
had  lost  its  hauteur.  She  was  pleading  with  him  now. 
"It  will  not  bring  you  happiness  to  break  your  word.  Be- 
sides, you  must  think  of  the  girl." 

"I  do  think  of  her.  It  was  for  her  sake  that  I  wrote 
before.  I  had  no  notion  then  of  offering  myself  to  you.  I 
had  no  idea  then  that  you  could  — 

She  cut  him  short  with  a  stateliness  which  he  was  man 
enough  to  enjoy.  "I  cannot,"  she  saidj  "and  I  will  not. 
No  matter  what  happens,  you  have  my  final  word  about 
this  very  disagreeable  subject.  I  must  ask  you  as  my 
friend  never  to  reopen  it."  Then  with  a  sudden  change  to 
the  charming  manner  which  had  so  often  proved  irresistible, 
"You  are  my  friend,  aren't  you?"  and  pausing  at  the  door 
of  the  house,  she  held  out  her  hand. 

Thorley  took  it  firmly  in  both  of  his. 

"I  am,"  he  answered ;  and  there  being  apparently  noth- 
ing more  to  say  they  went  in  to  lunch. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE  LETTER  AND  MRS.   PRESCOTT 

IN  spite  of  everything,  Thorley  Prescott  escorted  Jean 
Stuart  back  to  the  city  that  Saturday  afternoon.  Jean 
reasoned  that  it  would  not  seem  strange  to  Mr.  John  Pres- 
cott if  she  were  rather  silent  after  her  visit  to  the  cemetery ; 
so  she  did  not  try  to  keep  up  a  conversation.  He,  seeing 
her  red  eyelids,  honored  her  sensibility,  and  after  a  few 
attempts  to  talk  with  his  son,  fell  silent  also.  As  for  Thor- 
ley, he  had  nothing  to  say  beyond  a  bare  yes  or  no,  grunted 
grudgingly  in  answer  to  a  direct  question.  He  seemed  to 
be  thinking  out  some  problem ;  for  at  times  his  lips  moved, 
and  once  in  a  while  he  nodded  his  head  or  tossed  it  impa- 
tiently. Withal  he  looked  so  grim  over  his  cogitations  that 
his  father  wondered  what  he  could  be  planning. 

Mr.  Prescott  had  been  very  uneasy  for  a  time  after  he 
learned  of  Thorley's  engagement  to  Esther  Wilcox  and  of 
his  love  for  Jean  Stuart.  At  first  the  father  felt  that  his 
boy  was  entitled  to  win  the  wife  he  wanted  at  any  cost. 
But  of  late  he  had  settled  down  to  the  belief  that  Esther  Wil- 
cox was  better  suited  after  all  to  be  Thorley's  helpmate. 
When  he  saw  Thorley  and  Jean  return  from  the  Kurdish 
trip  apparently  on  terms  of  sober  friendship,  he  was  much 
relieved.  And  he  had  the  audacity  to  hope  that  after  Miss 
Stuart's  departure  from  Muramna,  Thorley  would  forget  her 
or  if  he  remembered,  would  be  glad  to  have  escaped  the  folly 
of  trying  to  turn  a  woman  like  her  into  a  missionary.  It  can- 
not be  denied  that  Mr.  Prescott  may  have  been  influenced 
by  his  wife,  who  detested  Jean  Stuart  and  lost  no  opportunity 

272 


THE  LETTER  AND  MRS.  PRESCOTT         273 

of  branding  her  as  an  alien  and  a  pagan.  He  had  to  admit 
that  Jean  did  not  seem  to  be  a  religious  person  nor  a  con- 
secrated worker;  but  he  had  made  Mrs.  Prescott  angry 
more  than  once  by  stating  that  in  spite  of  her  shortcom- 
ings, he  could  not  help  liking  the  lady  herself.  At  the  same 
time,  the  thought  of  her  as  a  daughter-in-law  had  become 
alarming  to  him.  He  had  no  real  reason  now  to  feel  that 
the  grimness  of  his  son  was  connected  with  Miss  Stuart. 
Yet  all  the  way  to  the  city,  he  felt  his  uneasiness  returning ; 
and  he  was  glad  when  at  last  they  all  rode  into  the  Com- 
pound. 

Mr.  Prescott  made  haste  to  dismount  at  the  Lawrences' 
door  that  he  might  be  the  one  to  help  Miss  Stuart  off  her 
horse.  Quick  as  he  was,  Thorley  was  quicker.  Now  Jean 
was  carrying  a  bunch  of  hyacinths  which  she  had  asked 
Thorley  to  get  for  her  to  give  Mrs.  Lawrence,  and  these  she 
allowed  him  to  hold  while  she  let  his  father  help  her  down. 

"Thank  you  both  very  much,"  she  said  graciously  as  she 
prepared  to  mount  the  steps. 

She  held  out  her  hand  for  the  flowers.  Thorley  gave 
them  to  her,  openly  keeping  one  for  himself. 

"I  want  them  all,  please,"  she  insisted;  and  he  obeyed 
her  with  a  deepening  grimness  about  the  mouth  that  did 
not  go  with  the  smile  in  his  eyes. 

Now  Mr.  Prescott  knew  that  he  had  grounds  for  his  un- 
easiness; and  he  resolved  to  speak  seriously  with  his  son 
at  the  first  opportunity;  though,  knowing  that  Thorley 
had  already  chosen  some  definite  course  of  action,  he  did 
not  relish  the  prospect  of  offering  contrary  advice.  How- 
ever he  got  no  chance  to  talk  with  his  son  that  evening.  The 
one  question  Thorley  asked  at  supper,  was,  — 

"What  time  does  the  mail  go  out  on  Sunday?" 

"It  goes  out  on  Saturday  now,"  said  Mrs.  Prescott. 

"What!"  cried  Thorley,  half  starting  from  his  chair. 
"Then  it's  gone  already?" 


274  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

"You  interrupted  me,  Thorley,"  said  his  stepmother 
grandly.  "I  was  about  to  say  that  we,  as  Christians,  can- 
not be  too  thankful  for  the  change." 

"Oh,  Lord,"  said  Thorley,  a  remark  which,  though  brief, 
kept  Mrs.  Prescott  in  conversation  for  the  rest  of  the  meal. 

After  supper  Thorley  retired  to  his  room  and,  locking  the 
door,  proceeded  to  spend  his  entire  stock  of  American  paper 
and  almost  the  whole  night  in  the  composition  of  a  letter 
which  turned  out  to  be  rather  short  after  all. 

His  father  knocked  at  the  door  and  was  more  or  less 
politely  refused  admittance.  His  stepmother  knocked  and 
received  no  reply.  The  remarks  which  she  hurled  through 
the  door  were  likewise  disregarded ;  but  the  remarks  which 
she  later  made  to  her  husband  were  not  to  be  so  easily  es- 
caped, and  it  is  doubtful  whether  any  of  the  Prescott 
family  slept  very  much  that  night. 

Jean  Stuart  slept,  if  possible,  even  less  than  they  did. 
She  had  to  devise  a  telegram  to  Bertha  Courtlandt  Mullins ; 
she  had  to  decide  which  of  the  gentlemen  she  would  ask  to 
send  it  for  her;  and  she  had  to  consider  what  reason  she 
would  give  Margaret  Lawrence  for  the  very  sudden  and 
radical  change  in  her  plans. 

"I'll  wait  until  the  mail  to-morrow,"  she  decided,  after 
several  hours  of  thought.  "That  may  bring  a  letter  about 
the  lawsuit  which  will  help  me  out  a  little.  I've  told  Mar- 
garet that  I  had  a  suit  on  hand  which  might  go  against  me ; 
and  the  fact  is  that  I  ought  to  get  back  pretty  quickly.  I 
never  should  have  left  Mr.  Erskine  to  prosecute  Mercer 
Bryant.  He's  too  chicken-hearted.  But  I  just  couldn't 
bear  to  appear  in  court  against  that  man.  And  now  I  may 
have  to,  after  all ;  for  I'll  die  sooner  than  let  Mercer  Bryant 
bamfoozle  me." 

A  sudden  thought  made  her  writhe  in  the  bed  and  a 
groan  escaped  her  as  she  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow. 

"And  now,"  said  a  voice  within  her,  "you  have  put  your- 


THE  LETTER  AND  MRS.  PRESCOTT         275 

self  on  a  level  with  Mercer  and  Delia.  Oh,  how  that  girl 
would  hate  you,  if  she  knew  what  you  have  done  !  If  only 
she  could  be  kept  from  knowing  !" 

Jean  Stuart  sat  up  in  her  bed  and  shivered  with  some- 
thing icier  than  the  cold.  "But  I  know  he  is  going  to  tell 
her,  and  I  can't  stop  him.  Will  he  tell  her  that  I  love  him  ? 
Oh  God,  I  can't  bear  that." 

She  jumped  out  on  the  floor  and  walked  up  and  down  in 
the  moonlight.  Then  she  thought  she  heard  a  sound  and 
got  back  into  bed,  crouching  under  the  covers. 

"Jean,"  said  a  voice  at  the  door,  "is  anything  the  matter  ? 
Are  you  sick?" 

"Aren't  you  asleep  ?"  said  Jean,  as  if  she  had  just  waked 
up.  She  leaped  out  of  bed  and  opened  the  door.  "What 
can  I  do  for  you,  Margaret  ?  Would  it  help  you  to  sleep 
if  I  rubbed  your  head  ?  " 

"No,  thank  you.  I  guess  I'll  be  more  sleepy  by  and  by. 
Those  Moharrem  noises  startled  me  several  times,  just  as 
I  was  dropping  off.  They  aren't  so  loud  now  —  quite." 

"Stay  here  with  me,"  said  Jean.  "You  can  hardly  hear 
them  at  all." 

"No,  thank  you,  the  children  might  wake  and  miss  me. 
They  are  so  easily  frightened  now,  poor  little  things.  Go 
back  to  bed,  Jean ;  you're  shivering.  My,  but  it's  a  com- 
fort to  have  you  here  !" 

"How  can  I  leave  her  ?"  thought  Jean  as  she  watched  her 
go  down  the  hall  with  her  lamp. 

Then  she  went  back  to  bed  and  fell  to  thinking  about 
the  girl  whom  Thorley  had  promised  to  many.  He  had 
not  told  her  name ;  and  Jean  supposed  it  was  one  that  she 
had  never  heard.  She  wished  he  had  mentioned  it.  It 
might  have  helped  her  to  form  a  picture  of  the  girl.  Where- 
upon she  began  to  form  a  picture  out  of  nothing  and  became 
in  the  process  more  wide  awake  than  ever.  So  she  gave  it 
up  in  disgust,  lighted  her  lamp,  and  began  to  study  Turkish. 


276  THE    GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

About  the  same  time,  Thorley  finished  his  letter,  read  it 
over  for  the  last  time,  put  it  into  an  envelope  which  he  sealed 
and  addressed,  tore  the  sheets  he  had  spoiled  into  minute 
fragments,  which  on  second  thoughts  he  carefully  burned 
on  a  brass  tray,  then  went  to  bed,  and  slept. 

In  the  morning  he  rose  early  and  went  downstairs  with 
the  letter  in  the  pocket  of  his  riding-coat.  There  he  begged 
a  cup  of  coffee  from  the  cook  and  sent  an  order  to  the  stables 
for  his  horse  and  his  outriders.  Returning  to  the  sitting- 
room,  he  heard  steps  in  his  father's  study  above  his  head. 

Mr.  Prescott  had  not  slept  very  well  when  at  last  he  was 
allowed  the  chance  to  try ;  and  the  snores  of  his  wife  had 
become  so  insistent  that  he  had  escaped  to  his  study  where, 
in  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  he  was  looking  over  his 
sermon. 

"Why,  Thorley,"  he  exclaimed,  in  an  undertone,  as  his 
son  entered  the  room  quietly  without  knocking.  "Why  are 
you  up  and  dressed  so  early?" 

"I  must  ride  up  again  this  morning.  I  should  have  gone 
last  night ;  but  I  wanted  to  be  sure  this  letter  was  in  your 
own  hands.  I  want  it  mailed  next  Saturday  without  fail. 
Please  put  it  into  the  post-bag  yourself." 

"Why  —  but  —  Thorley.  I  shall  see  you  again  before 
Saturday." 

"  Perhaps  not.  I'll  try  of  course  to  get  to  Station  meeting ; 
but  to-morrow  will  be  very  busy  and  I  may  not  make 
it." 

"Your  name  should  be  on  the  resolutions." 

"I  should  be  there;  and  I  will  be  if  I  can.  If  not,  you 
will  explain  to  the  Lawrences  that  I  was  dismissing  men  and 
simply  could  not  leave." 

"Very  well.  But  how  about  this  letter?  I  see  it  is  di- 
rected to  Mr.  Smith  of  Tabriz.  Is  it  more  than  usually  im- 
portant?" 

"Yes.     I  may  as  well  tell  you.    I've  written  to  ask  that 


THE  LETTER  AND  MRS.  PRESCOTT         277 

the  engagement  be  broken.  Jea  —  um  —  I  am  convinced 
that  the  other  letter  was  never  received." 

"But,  my  son,"  said  Mr.  Prescott,  very  unhappy,  "is  this 
haste  and  abruptness  necessary  ?  If  Miss  Wilcox,  as  you 
believe,  has  not  received  your  other  communication,  this 
request  will  come  on  her  like  a  thunderclap." 

"I  guess  not,  Father,"  said  Thorley  with  an  unpleasant 
smile.  "  My  letters  lately  haven't  been  any  too  affectionate 
and,  come  to  think  of  it,  hers  have  showed  that  she  knew  it." 

"At  the  same  time  you  should  show  her  every  considera- 
tion." 

"I  hope  I  have.  I  made  the  letter  as  decent  as  I  could. 
It  isn't  a  thing  you  can  do  with  any  airs  and  graces." 

Mr.  Prescott  had  to  smile  at  the  incongruous  picture. 
"But,  my  son,"  he  pursued,  "why  can't  you  wait  until  Miss 
Wilcox  herself  comes  back  to  Muramna  ?  That  should  oc- 
cur now  in  a  few  weeks  if  I  am  correctly  informed.  You  will 
then  be  in  a  position  to  manage  this  delicate  matter  with 
proper  deliberation ;  or  perhaps  when  you  see  the  young  lady 
again,  it  may  be  — 

"It  may  be  what?" 

"That  you  will  be  content  to  let  matters  remain  in  statu 
quo." 

"Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  Father!  Plain  English  is  bad 
enough.  This  letter  has  got  to  go.  Now  will  you  take 
charge  of  it  or  won't  you  ?  I  beg  your  pardon  for  being  so 
confoundedly  crusty.  Can't  help  it  this  time." 

"Can't  you  ride  down  yourself  on  Saturday,  if  you  still 
wish  the  letter  to  go  ?  By  that  time  — " 

"  No,  I  cannot ;  and  the  letter  is  going.  If  you  won't  send 
it,  I'll  ask  —  well,  Mrs.  Franklin,  I  guess,  or  Dr.  MacColl." 

"No,no,Thor.  If  it  must  go,  I'll  send  it  myself ;  but  I  do 
wish,  my  dear,  dear  boy,  that  you  would  take  a  little  more 
time  for  reflection." 

Thorley    had    been  fidgeting    with  his    riding-crop    all 


278  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

through  this  speech.  He  managed  to  hear  it  to  the  end  with- 
out interruption  and  now  he  smiled  grimly. 

"Oh,  I  won't  fail  to  reflect.  A  man  can't  act  like  a  cur 
without  some  compunction ;  but  for  all  that, the  letter  must  go; 
and  no  matter  how  much  I  reflect,  my  mind  will  not  change." 

"Very  well,  Thorley,"  said  Mr.  Prescott.  He  took  the 
letter  and  locked  it  up  in  a  drawer  of  his  writing-table. 

Thorley's  tones  had  been  incautiously  loud.  As  a  result, 
a  head  horny  with  crimping-pins  now  poked  itself  through 
the  door  into  the  bedroom. 

Thorley  fled. 

"Was  that  your  son,  Mr.  Prescott?"  inquired  a  voice 
still  husky  with  slumber. 

"Yes,  Melissa.  Thorley  had  to  ride  back  without  delay 
and  he  has  just  gone."  Mr.  Prescott  spoke  with  propitia- 
tory uneasiness. 

"His  manners  seem  to  be  even  worse  than  usual,"  re- 
marked the  voice ;  and  the  crimping-pins  were  withdrawn. 

Mr.  John  Prescott  spent  a  very  uncomfortable  week.  On 
Monday  he  was  asked  by  Dr.  Franklin  to  send  a  telegram  to 
Bushire. 

"I  don't  know  why  she  asked  me,"  growled  the  doctor. 
"I  never  send  telegrams  —  too  busy  and  don't  know  how  — 
but  I  said  I'd  see  to  it.  Rather  unkind  of  the  girl  to  leave  us 
now,  seems  to  me.  Margaret  Lawrence  is  all  broken  up, 
my  wife  says.  And  there's  no  telling  when  Esther  Wilcox 
will  get  a  chance  to  come  over  from  Tabriz.  The  children 
need  occupation  now,  if  ever  they  did.  The  poor  little  things 
are  all  worked  up.  Harriet  cries  every  time  I  leave  the 
house.  Well,  school's  begun  to-day  anyway;  and  Miss 
Stuart  says  she'll  keep  it  up  until  the  last  minute.  Says  she 
hates  to  go,  and  pretty  near  cried  when  I  asked  her  why  she 
was  deserting  us. 

"Why  is  she  going? 

"Something  about  a  lawsuit.     I  didn't  get  anything  very 


THE  LETTER  AND  MRS.  PRESCOTT        279 

clear.  But  it's  money,  I  guess.  The  richer  you  are,  the 
more  you  hate  to  be  cheated.  But  there,  I  oughtn't  to  say  a 
word  about  her.  She's  been  generous  enough,  land  knows  !  " 

Mr.  Prescott  sent  the  telegram ;  but  he  was  so  inconsistent 
as  to  feel  very  badly  about  it  and  to  wish  he  could  tell  Thor- 
ley. 

Thorley  did  get  down  to  the  Station  meeting,  coming  in 
late  and  riding  up  again  afterwards,  in  spite  of  the  protests  of 
all  his  colleagues.  All  he  said  to  his  father  was,  "Don't 
forget  that  letter,"  and  he  did  not  even  look  up  at  the  Law- 
rences' windows  as  he  passed. 

Now,  as  the  week  dragged  on,  Mr.  Prescott  became  so 
rushed  with  overseeing  Standish  at  the  Treasury  and  getting 
men  to  preach  for  the  coming  Sunday,  that  he  stopped  open- 
ing his  table  drawer  three  or  four  times  a  day  to  look  at 
the  fatal  letter.  In  fact,  all  through  Thursday  and  Friday 
he  never  looked  at  it  once,  and  on  Saturday  he  went  back 
to  the  house  for  it,  only  an  hour  before  mail-time. 

When  he  opened  the  drawer,  it  was  not  in  its  usual  place 
on  top.  He  felt  down  all  the  sides  and  failed  to  find  it. 
Then  he  turned  everything  out ;  and  it  was  not  there.  He 
looked  all  through  his  desk  and  all  over  the  room.  Then 
he  shouted  for  his  wife. 

The  servants,  in  consternation  at  the  change  from  his  usual 
manner,  informed  him  that  the  Khanum  had  gone  out  to 
the  College  to  attend  a  ladies'  prayer-meeting  at  Mrs.  Frank- 
lin's. 

Mr.  Prescott  groaned.  He  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw 
that  there  was  not  time  to  ride  out  and  back,  before  the  mail 
closed.  It  seemed  as  if  there  were  nothing  he  could  do. 
Then,  like  an  inspiration,  there  came  the  thought  of  the  tele- 
phone. Now  Mr.  Prescott  was  in  many  respects  an  old- 
fashioned  man.  He  had  lived  so  long  in  the  Orient  that  he 
did  not  feel  the  need  of  modern  improvements,  and  he  had 
thought  it  a  waste  when  Dan  Lawrence  on  his  last  furlough, 


280  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

had  collected  from  friends  of  the  Mission,  money  enough  for 
a  small  telephone  which,  on  his  return  to  Muramna,  he  had 
set  up.  between  the  city  and  the  College.  The  telephone 
had  long  since  proved  itself  invaluable;  but  Mr.  Prescott 
had  never  admitted  the  necessity  for  it  and  had  never  been 
known  to  use  it  himself. 

The  thought  of  it  now  came  as  a  godsend  to  his  troubled 
mind.  He  lost  no  time  in  rushing  over  to  the  Lawrences', 
where  he  electrified  the  whole  family  (who  happened  to  be 
gathered  in  the  sitting-room)  by  asking  breathlessly  if  it 
would  be  possible  for  him  to  use  the  telephone  and  whether 
Mrs.  Lawrence  thought  he  could  make  his  wife  understand 
a  message,  if  indeed  a  way  could  be  found  to  bring  her  to  the 
other  end  of  the  wire. 

Mrs.  Lawrence  rose  with  alacrity  when  she  understood 
his  wishes.  She  had  always  been  sensitive  about  his  attitude 
toward  the  telephone  because  she  thought  it  showed  disap- 
proval of  Dan.  So  it  pleased  her  not  a  little  to  do  him  this 
small  favor. 

"Come  right  into  the  dining-room,"  she  said  briskly. 
"Mrs.  Prescott  is  at  Dr.  Franklin's,  you  say?  Then  I'll 
ask  to  have  her  come  to  the  'phone  at  once.  You'd  like 
me  to  call  up,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  it  is  not  too  much  trouble." 

"Not  at  all.  It's  a  pleasure.  Oh,  is  this  you,  Mrs. 
Franklin?  Is  Mrs.  Prescott  in  the  house?  Please  say 
that  her  husband  is  here  and  would  like  to  speak  with  her. 
Yes,  her  husband.  Yes,  Mr.  Prescott.  Yes,  I  know  it ;  but 
he's  here." 

A  pause,  during  which  Mr.  Prescott  scarcely  breathed. 

"Oh,  is  this  you,  Mrs.  Prescott?  Yes,  your  husband  is 
here." 

She  held  out  the  receiver  to  Mr.  Prescott. 

"What  do  I  do?"  said  he  in  a  whisper,  taking  the  re- 
ceiver as  if  he  expected  it  to  shoot  him. 


THE  LETTER  AND  MRS.  PRESCOTT         281 

"Hold  this  to  your  ear,"  said  Margaret  encouragingly, 
"and  speak  into  the  hole." 

Mr.  Prescott  held  the  receiver  very  gingerly  several 
inches  from  his  ear  and  stood  clearing  his  throat  and  shifting 
from  one  foot  to  the  other.  In  the  meantime  all  the  Law- 
rences could  hear  Mrs.  Prescott  at  the  other  end  making 
the  wire  hot  with  Helios  and  Who  is  its. 

Mrs,  Lawrence  pushed  the  receiver  up  to  Mr.  Prescott's 
ear.  Until  then  the  sound  had  been  a  confused  mumble  to 
him;  but  now  he  recognized  his  wife's  voice;  and  it  was 
funny  to  see  the  expression  of  gratified  alarm  that  overspread 
his  countenance. 

"Yes,  Melissa,  it  is  I,"  he  said,  roaring  into  the  telephone 
in  a  voice  that  could  have  been  heard  by  an  audience  of  ten 
thousand.  "Yes,  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you.  No,  I  am  all 
right.  Yes,  I  saw  to  the  pilau.  No,  I  have  not  had  any 
dinner.  Because  I  was  busy  about  something  else.  Now 
do  keep  still,  Melissa,  and  give  me  a  chance  to  say  what  I 
want.  Have  you  been  house-cleaning  in  my  study? 
House-cleaning,  I  say.  Yes,  in  my  study.  Well,  have  you  ?  " 

By  this  time,  his  voice  was  loud  enough  to  break  the  wires  ; 
and  the  children  in  the  other  room  were  in  fits  of  silent 
laughter.  Even  Dr.  Lawrence  smiled ;  and  Jean  Stuart  had 
to  bite  her  lips. 

"Melissa"  roared  Mr.  Prescott,  "/  want  to  know  if  you 
have  unlocked  the  right-Jiand  upper  small  drawer  of  my  desk. 
You  have  ?  Did  you  find  a  letter  there  ?  A  letter  addressed 
to  Rev.  Abijah  Smith  at  Tabriz.  In  my  hand-writing? 
Why,  no.  What  difference  does  that  make?  Did  you 
find  the  letter!  Well,  yes,  it  was  in  Thorley's  handwriting. 
Did  you  find  it?  You  took  it  out  because  you  knew  the 
Smiths  had  started  for  America  this  week?  What  have 
you  done  with  it  ?  Do  I  understand  you  to  say  that  you 
have  it  with  you  now  ?  Oh-h-h,  you  have  just  given  it  to 
Kasha  Yussuf  to  take  to  Thorley  at  Akbar?  Can  you 


282  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

send  some  one  to  overtake  him  ?  Yes,  it's  very  important. 
I  would  not  say  so,  Melissa,  if  it  were  not.  Oh-h-h,  he  left 
half  an  hour  ago  !  Why  didn't  you  say  so  at  first  ?  " 

He  dropped  the  receiver.  "Mrs.  Lawrence,"  he  shouted, 
with  anything  but  his  usual  mildness.  "How  do  you  shut 
this  thing  off  ?  I  have  finished." 

There  may  have  been  a  little  malice  in  the  way  Mrs. 
Lawrence  hung  up  the  receiver  and  tinkled  the  bell ;  for, 
though  the  other  end  rang  repeatedly,  she  made  no  motion 
to  answer. 

"He'll  talk  to  his  wife  by  telephone  again,"  said  Jean 
Stuart  when  Mr.  Prescott  had  left  the  house,  closing  the 
front  door  with  a  bang  that  was  not  at  all  like  him.  "I 
venture  to  say  that  he's  very  seldom  in  a  position  to  shut  her 
off  when  he  chooses." 

As  for  Mr.  Prescott,  he  went  home  and  scolded  the  ser- 
vants, thus  increasing  by  leaps  and  bounds  the  respect  in 
which  he  was  held  by  the  household. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

THE  CASTING  VOTE 

HISTORY  has  never  revealed  what  Thorley  Prescott  did 
on  Saturday  afternoon  when  he  received  the  missive  from 
his  stepmother,  enclosing  his  own  envelope  directed  to  Mr. 
Smith.  Mr.  John  Prescott,  who  rode  up  to  preach  for  him 
on  Sunday,  found  him  in  a  very  uncommunicative  mood. 
On  receiving  his  father's  explanation  about  the  letter,  he 
replied  only,  — 

"That's  all  right,  it  wasn't  your  fault." 

When  asked  if  he  cared  to  have  the  letter  mailed  next 
Saturday,  he  answered  :  — 

"No  thanks.  It  wasn't  fair  to  make  you  do  it.  I'll 
have  to  come  down  one  or  two  days  to  help  with  the  balance. 
Freyer  has  been  away  ;  and  Standish  has  got  the  books  into 
a  mess." 

This  was  by  far  the  longest  speech  he  made  during  the 
twenty-four  hours  that  his  father  spent  on  the  mountain. 
Even  the  news  of  the  week,  recounted  in  Mr.  Prescott 's 
sprightliest  vein,  failed  to  draw  comments.  He  grunted 
when  told  that  the  British  Consul  from  Tabriz  was  on  his 
way  to  help  them  with  their  diplomatic  difficulties  and  to 
awe  the  Governor  into  taking  some  real  action  about  Hadji 
Husain.  At  the  news  that  the  Hadji  had  actually  been 
seen  within  fifty  miles  of  the  city,  and  that  credible  wit- 
nesses had  heard  him  boast  of  having  killed  one  of  the 
Inglesi,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked  a  little  more 
gloomy. 

283 


284  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

Mr.  Prescott  hesitated  over  his  next  item.  He  had  con- 
cluded to  tell  his  son  about  Miss  Stuart's  telegram  to 
Bushire.  But  to  this  news  Thorley  made  no  response  what- 
ever, not  so  much  as  by  the  flicker  of  an  eyelash.  Then 
Mr.  Prescott  decided  that  he  had  done  his  duty  for  that 
day  and  took  up  a  book. 

It  was  not  until  they  were  riding  down  to  Muramna  next 
morning  that  he  found  courage  to  unburden  himself  of  a 
message. 

"  Thorley,"  he  ventured,  breaking  a  silence  that  was  like 
the  surface  of  a  pond  after  several  still  nights  of  zero  weather, 
"Thorley,  I  have  a  message  for  you." 

Supposing  the  message  was  from  Mrs.  Prescott,  Thorley 
said  nothing,  and  did  not  even  turn  his  head. 

"Miss  Stuart,"  instantly  Thorley  was  all  attention, 
"asked  me  to  tell  you  that  she  would  be  pleased  if  you 
cared  to  come  and  tell  her  about  the  decision  at  Station 
meeting  to-day." 

"Great  Scott,  Father,  why  didn't  you  mention  that 
before?" 

"Your  attitude,  my  son,  has  not  been  receptive.  I  have 
hesitated  to  address  you  at  all." 

Thorley  came  close  enough  to  reach  out  and  touch  his 
father's  shoulder. 

"I  know  I'm  a  brute,  Dad,"  he  admitted,  "but  I  didn't 
realize  that  I  was  quite  as  bad  as  that." 

"All  right,  Samivel  my  son,  we'll  say  no  more  about  it. 
I  know  you  have  many  things  to  trouble  you." 

"But  so  have  we  all.  How  will  it  turn  to-day,  Father? 
Who's  on  our  side  ?  "  And  for  the  rest  of  the  way  the  two 
men  talked  busily  about  the  coming  discussion. 

That  afternoon,  it  seemed  to  Jean  Stuart  as  if  the  Station 
meeting  were  interminably  long.  She  sat  in  the  Lawrences' 
sitting-room,  sewing ;  for  she  could  not  collect  her  thoughts 


THE   CASTING  VOTE  285 

to  read  nor  to  study.  She  was  inclined  to  fear  that  she  had 
done  wrong  in  sending  for  Thorley  Prescott.  There  was 
truth  in  the  excuse  she  had  made  through  his  father,  of  want- 
ing to  hear  from  Thorley's  own  tips  about  the  work  at 
Akbar.  She  was  deeply  and  honestly  interested  in  the 
water-pipe  industry;  for  her  intellect  had  long  since 
grasped  the  economic  value  of  such  schemes  in  the  develop- 
ment of  backward  countries  tike  Persia ;  and  her  desire  had 
been  unconsciously  developed  for  changing  the  miserable 
environments  of  fellow  human  beings  into  those  of  health 
and  happiness. 

Yet  these  were  days  when  her  fear  of  meeting  the  Black 
Saib  was  so  great  that  she  would  rather  have  gleaned  the 
details  of  this  decision  from  Margaret  Lawrence  and  the 
others,  than  to  have  risked  meeting  this  man,  face  to  face, 
with  the  knowledge  that  each  of  them  knew  the  other's 
heart  and  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  ever  to  allow 
another  word  or  glance  of  love  to  pass  between  them. 

She  had  summoned  Thorley,  she  told  herself  (and  with 
her  soul-communion  had  become  a  fairly  honest  process) 
because  it  was  necessary  for  someone  to  warn  him  as  forcibly 
as  possible  against  the  daily  and  hourly  hazards  he  was 
taking. 

He  was  being  watched  over  by  the  Kurdish  Chief  Ismaili ; 
for  the  Sheikh  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  his  "Brother  the 
Black  Saib"  and  was  determined,  at  all  costs,  to  save  his 
life.  Besides,  there  was  an  ancient  feud  between  the  tribes- 
men of  the  Sheikh  and  the  adherents  of  Hadji  Husain. 
The  Sheikh  had  shown  his  devotion  and  his  desire  for 
revenge  by  sticking  to  Thorley  Prescott  and  by  delegating 
two  of  his  sons  to  fetch  their  mother  from  the  stronghold 
near  Suj  Anak  and  bring  her  to  Dr.  MacColl  at  the  Hos- 
pital. Jean  had  heard  from  Dr.  MacColl  only  yesterday 
that  there  might  be  a  chance  of  saving  the  Kurdish  woman's 
life. 


286  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Jean  Stuart  found  herself  thinking  of  many  things  as 
she  sat  there,  forever  plying  her  needle,  with  her  gaze 
wandering  to  the  window  so  often  that  her  fingers  were 
pricked. 

The  side  window  of  the  sitting-room  looked  toward  the 
Seminary.  Through  the  windows  of  the  assembly  room,  her 
keen  eyes  could  discern  black  forms.  Once  a  man  came  and 
pulled  back  the  curtain  with  an  impatient  jerk;  and  she 
was  certain  that  she  recognized  his  shining  black  head. 

At  last  there  was  a  sound  that  reached  her  through  the 
silence  way  across  the  Compound.  It  was  as  if  some  one 
had  jumped  from  a  great  height  on  to  flag-stones. 

The  next  instant  the  outer  door  of  the  Seminary  burst 
open;  and  a  hatless,  square-shouldered  man  flew  across 
the  yard.  Even  before  she  could  see  him,  she  knew  he  was 
coming  and  smiled  at  her  own  inconsistency  even  as  she 
shrank  back  into  the  room.  Then  with  a  decisive  move- 
ment that  expressed  her  self-contempt,  she  threw  the  win- 
dow open,  and  called  out :  — 

"Well,  how  is  it?    Have  we  won?" 

Thorley,  lifting  his  face,  halted  directly  under  the  window ; 
and  she  was  amazed  to  see  that  his  eyes  were  wet  with 
tears,  some  of  which  had  made  a  pale  furrow  down  his 
swarthy  cheeks.  Evidently  he  had  taken  no  trouble  to 
conceal  them  nor  to  wipe  them  away.  His  voice  however 
rang  out  strong  and  vibrant  as  he  answered :  — 

"No  Jean,  we  haven't  won ;  it's  Dan  who  has  done  it  all 
for  us." 

"What?"  cried  Jean.  "Come  in  quickly!"  And  she 
ran  to  open  the  door.  "Now  tell  me  all  about  it,"  she 
demanded. 

Thorley  Prescott  sat  down  by  accident  opposite  a  little 
mirror  into  which  his  glance  unavoidably  fell. 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed,  "I've  been  crying!"  He 
fumbled  hurriedly  in  his  pocket. 


THE   CASTING    VOTE  287 

"Got  a  handkerchief,  Jean?"  he  demanded;  and  Jean, 
stupefied  with  astonishment,  obediently  tucked  one  into 
his  hand. 

"Well,"  he  began,  mopping  his  face  and  shifting  his  chair 
impatiently  to  get  that  mirror  out  of  his  way  —  "Well,  I 
never  would  have  expected  such  a  thing !  —  Never  in  all 
this  world!" 

"Neither  should  I,"  answered  Jean,  dryly.  "Suppose 
you  expatiate." 

"I'll  tell  you  the  whole  thing  from  the  beginning."  Thor- 
ley's  eyes  gleamed  with  enthusiasm.  "Sit  here,  won't  you 
please,  so  that  I  can  see  the  sun  sparkle  in  your  hair.  Was 
there  ever  any  other  hair  like  yours  ?  " 

"I  doubt  it,'«'  said  Jean.  "It  was  shampooed  yesterday, 
and  there's  nothing  half  as  wayward  even  in  Muramna. 
Now,  if  you  don't  go  on,  I  shall  excuse  myself  and  go  in 
search  of  Mr.  Freyer  —  or  Roger  Standish." 

"By  the  way,"  Prescott's  face  lit  up  with  mischief,  "has 
Amy  Lea  told  you  of  her  engagement?  She  seemed  to 
think  that  you  were  opposed  to  the  match." 

Jean's  eyes  responded  to  his  look,  the  little  places  that 
were  not  exactly  dimples  deepening  at  the  corners  of  her 
mouth. 

"Oh !  well,"  she  said,  "I  fancy  I'm  not  the  only  person 
in  Muramna  who  will  be  glad  when  Jean  Stuart  sets  out  for 
home."  Thorley's  face  changed  instantly  to  grimness; 
his  eyes  hardened  and  met  hers  in  a  silent  challenge  which, 
after  a  moment  of  intense  effort,  she  failed  to  meet.  The 
instant  she  turned  away,  Thorley's  face  changed  again; 
but  that  brief  look  of  ineffable  tenderness  was  lost  on  her. 
He  began  to  speak  now  in  brisk  businesslike  tones :  — 

"You  want  me  to  tell  you  about  the  meeting!  Well, 
Dr.  Lawrence  had  asked  my  father  to  take  the  chair.  Of 
course  that  cut  Dad  out  of  the  discussion,  which  looked  bad 
for  us.  Dr.  Franklin  made  as  decent  a  prayer  as  I  ever 


288  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

heard,  mostly  asking  the  Lord  for  common  sense,  which 
Heaven  knows  we  all  need." 

Jean  laughed.  "It  might  be  safe  for  even  me,"  she  said, 
"to  make  a  prayer  like  that." 

He  nodded.  "You've  begun,  have  you?  I  thought  so. 
Have  you  got  as  far  as  'forgive  us  our  debts'  ?" 

"No,"  she  answered  in  a  high  voice,  "that's  a  point  I  will 
never  reach." 

Thorley  regarded  her  an  instant  before  he  went  on. 
"Well,  your  friend  Freyer  was  the  first  to  shoot  off  his 
mouth.  You  know  the  kind  of  thing  he  would  say ;  a  lot 
of  stuff  about  shovels  being  turned  into  ploughshares  and 
water-pipes  into  pruning-hooks.  One  time,  he  said,  he  him- 
self had  felt  it  his  duty  cheerfully  to  'leave  the  word  of  the 
Lord  and  serve  tables.'  But  that  time  had  long  since 
passed."  Jean  could  scarcely  keep  from  laughing  at  Thor- 
ley's  unconscious  imitation  of  his  troublesome  little  col- 
league. "He  finished  by  making  a  motion  that  the  work 
at  Akbar  be  immediately  concluded  and  that  Mr.  Thorley 
Prescott  (with  a  lot  of  hot  air  about  me)  be  now  permitted 
to  resume  his  chosen  work  in  the  city."  Thorley  laughed, 
but  without  a  touch  of  his  old  bitterness. 

"Did  anybody  second  the  motion  ?"  asked  Jean. 

"Yes  —  Roger  Standish,  with  an  alacrity  that  made  me 
nearly  roar." 

"You  didn't  laugh  out  loud?" 

"I  did  that." 

"I  wager  that  made  the  old  ladies  sit  up."  Jean  longed 
to  add  a  specific  question  about  the  effect  on  Mrs.  Prescott, 
but  restrained  herself.  "What  happened  next?"  she  de- 
manded. "It's  easier  to  get  rid  of  a  third  molar  than  to 
extract  a  consecutive  tale  from  you." 

"Sorry,"  answered  Thorley  with  a  chuckle.  "It  might 
help  if  you  called  me  Thorny." 

Jean's  face  grew  stern  as  she  answered,  "Go  on." 


THE   CASTING   VOTE  289 

"Well,  Aunt  Kate  was  the  next  to  make  a  speech.  I  tell 
you  it  takes  that  dear  soul  to  make  a  fellow  feel  that  he's 
accomplishing  something  !  If  all  women  were  like  her ! " 

Jean's  eyes  flashed.  "Can't  you  keep  to  the  subject?" 
she  demanded. 

Thorley  stared  at  her  in  amazement  while  he  hastily 
obeyed.  "The  next  person  to  get  the  floor  was  old  Dad 
himself.  He  gave  up  his  chair  to  Dr.  Franklin ;  and  I  wish 
you  could  have  heard  how  the  dear  old  fellow  delivered  his 
ideas.  It  was  simply  bully  !" 

"He  makes  the  dearest  speech  of  any  man  here,"  Jean 
put  in. 

"Oh,  well,"  Thorley  beamed  with  contradictory  pride  as 
he  spoke,  "he's  nothing,  you  know,  but  a  mossback  mis- 
sionary." Thorley  was  playing  for  that  queer  little  sound 
of  deep  merriment  which  had  given  him  his  first  knowledge 
that  he  liked  to  be  with  Jean  Stuart.  For  some  weeks  he 
had  been  able  to  congratulate  himself  that  when  he  played 
for  it,  he  won  it.  Now  he  was  congratulating  himself,  even 
as  he  rapidly  gave  the  substance  of  his  father's  speech. 

Mr.  John  Prescott,  it  appeared,  had  offered  a  detailed 
plan  for  the  adjustment  of  work  among  his  colleagues,  so 
that  Thorley  could  keep  on  at  Akbar  without  interfering 
with  the  necessary  work  of  the  Station,  or  forcing  over- 
work upon  any  one  person.  Thorley,  he  claimed,  could 
leave  the  water-pipe  industry  largely  to  Isaac  of  Arawan, 
his  well-trained  foreman.  At  least  half  his  time  could  thus 
be  spent  in  the  Treasury,  where,  when  he  was  obliged  to  be 
absent,  Mr.  John  Prescott  himself  would  be  ready  to  help 
him  out.  This  would  leave  Roger  Standish  and  Mr.  Freyer 
free  to  start  for  the  Mountains  as.soon  as  instructions  came 
from  the  Board,  because  Miss  Trench,  whose  Moslem  girls 
were  taking  a  vacation  on  account  of  Moharrem,  had  her- 
self offered  the  use  of  her  gifted  pen  in  assisting  Dr.  Law- 
rence with  the  Press  work.  "Dad  brought  down  the  house," 


290  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Thorley  remarked,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "by  adding 
that  in  his  opinion  this  arrangement  of  the  work  would  be 
advantageous  to  the  natives,  as  he  had  never  thought  that 
the  talents  of  his  son  were  such  as  to  fit  him  for  editing  a 
religious  periodical." 

Jean  hardly  took  time  to  laugh  as  Thorley  expected. 
"Well,  what  next?"  she  insisted.  "Was  that  all  your 
father  said?" 

"No.  He  finished  up  with  a  splendid  peroration  about 
the  industrial  factor  in  missions.  'Every  missionary,'  he 
said,  'is  a  spoke  in  the  wheel  of  progress  toward  Christian 
civilization.  Now,  in  a  country  like  this,  no  Christian 
civilization  can  be  built  up,  except  on  a  basis  of  economic 
reform.  If  we  can  begin  to  educate  these  people  in  the 
foundation  principles  of  honesty  as  a  result  of  scientific  and 
profitable  labor,  if  we  can  wrest  from  the  Persian  Govern- 
ment proper  protection  for  the  workmen  under  our  employ, 
that  they  may  be  permitted  to  labor  without  fear,  and  to 
amass  profits  and  property  without  molestation,  then,  if 
we  can  build  up  in  them  the  civic  responsibility  which  should 
be  felt  by  men  of  property  as  citizens  and  patriots,  we  shall 
be  the  pioneers  of  a  mighty,  far  reaching,  and  purely  Christ- 
like  work.' "  Thorley 's  face  shone  as  he  finished ;  and  Jean 
said  softly,  — 

"You  seem  to  have  learned  it  all  by  heart.  Did  you 
write  it  for  him?" 

"Could  I  have  made  a  speech  like  that?" 

Jean  smiled.  "I  guess  you  could,  if  necessary."  Then, 
as  he  shook  his  head,  "Who  came  next?" 

"Our  friend,  the  principal  of  Faith  Seminary,  with  her 
Commencement  voice,  and  her  hands  folded  just  so,  im- 
mediately over  her  discreet  waist-line." 

Jean  rippled.  "Talk  about  not  being  able  to  talk  !" 
she  murmured ;  but  Thorley  pretended  not  to  hear  her. 

"Of  course,  we  realized  that  a  speech  from  the  old  lady 


THE   CASTING  VOTE  29 1 

would  influence  at  least  two  votes.  She  quoted  Scripture 
copiously  and  very  much  to  the  point.  You  can't  say  much 
against  that  verse  about  the  'meat  that  perisheth,'  when  it's 
cleverly  used.  She's  more  consistent  and  has  better  argu- 
ments than  any  other  of  the  evangelical  party.  Of  course 
no  one  wanted  to  answer  her.  Mrs.  Prescott  was  perfectly 
delighted ;  Mrs.  Whiting  purred  with  approval ;  and  Amy 
Lea  looked  so  soulful  that  I  wished  she  was  a  man,  so  that 
I  could  punch  her  face." 

"What  about  Roger?"  asked  Jean  mischievously: 

"Oh,  well,  the  kid  is  really  on  the  fence,  though  he  doesn't 
know  it.  When  it  comes  to  the  point,  he's  not  too  well 
pleased  that  there  isn't  some  pressing  duty  to  keep  him  in 
the  city.  I  guess  he's  anchored,  all  right.  Anyway,  he 
always  looks  at  her  —  when  you're  not  there." 

"I  thought  your  mind  never  wandered." 

"It  doesn't  .  .  .  now." 

"Who  spoke  next?"    The  words  came  like  hail. 

"Why,  dear  old  Dr.  Lawrence  pulled  himself  out  of  his 
chair." 

"No!"  exclaimed  Jean.  "I  shouldn't  have  thought  he 
could  do  it.  It's  been  so  hard  lately  for  him  to  say  any- 
thing .  .  .  consecutive." 

"Well,  he  did  it  this  time  .  .  .  answered  Scripture  with 
Scripture  in  a  way  I've  never  heard  equalled.  The  same 
Lord,  he  said,  that  spoke  about  the  meat  which  perisheth, 
said  also  to  his  chosen  disciples,  'Give  ye  them  to  eat.' 
He  called  me  'our  young  Nehemiah.'  Said  I  might  well 
say  to  certain  of  my  colleagues,  in  the  spirit  of  my  great 
missionary  predecessor,  'This  is  a  great  work;  I  cannot 
leave  it  and  come  down.'  Dr.  Franklin  yelled,  'Hear! 
Hear  ! '  and  that  confused  the  old  gentleman  so,  he  sat  down. 
Of  course,  the  doctor  had  to  speak  then ;  but  about  all  he 
did  was  to  spit  out  a  few  words  about  ignorant  interference 
and  the  wonderful  hope  of  a  self-supporting  mission,  if 


2 92  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

they  let  me  go  on  a  little  longer  on  my  own  hook.  After 
he  had  sat  down,  he  jumped  up  again  and  blurted  out  a 
call  for  objections.  You  can  guess  who  rose  to  it?" 

Jean  answered  him  with  her  eyes. 

"Well,  my  respected  stepmother  succeeded  in  making 
me  pretty  mad.  She  seldom  pulls  it  off  lately." 

"Yes,  you  are  calming  down." 

"I  find  it  bothers  Dad  when  I  answer  back;  and  after 
all,  I  have  other  uses  for  my  breath.  But  this  time  she 
talked  about  one  missionary  family  whose  members,  she 
understood,  were  likely  soon  to  be  splashing  in  porcelain 
bath-tubs." 

Jean  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed  merrily.  "Oh," 
she  cried,  "you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  lost  the  fun  in 
that?" 

"Hardly.  This  is  what  got  me.  She  claimed  we  ought 
to  be  using  your  money  to  erect  a  suitable  church  in  the 
city !  Well  you  can  just  bet  that  I  was  up  before  her 
knees  were  bent  to  sit  down ;  but  your  friend  Dr.  MacColl 
got  the  recognition  of  the  chair." 

"I  guess  she  did." 

"It  was  all  right,  too.  There's  nobody  equal  to  Dr. 
MacColl  for  laying  out  a  contemporary  when  she  feels  so 
inclined.  She  said  the  thousand  dollars  and  all  that  had 
since  been  added  to  it  (the  exact  sum  she  had  never  reckoned 
up  and  doubted  whether  it  were  realized  even  by  the 
giver)  this  princely  gift  had  been  given  by  one  friend  of  the 
Mission,  Miss  Jean  Stuart,  for  the  water-works  at  Akbar 
and  for  no  other  purpose.  Those  who  would  like  to 
divert  it  into  the  buikting  of  a  church  edifice,  might  as 
rightfully  lay  hold  in  imagination  on  the  Crown  revenues 
of  England." 

"Well,  well,"  laughed  Jean,  "the  little  doctor  did  express 
herself." 

"George    Whiting,"    continued    Thorley,    "had    been 


THE   CASTING  VOTE  293 

prodded  by  his  wife  and  glared  at  by  Mrs.  Prescott  the  en- 
tire afternoon.  He  now  got  up  and  made  some  remarks 
about  the  danger  to  me.  Well,  I  disposed  of  'em." 

"Did  you  make  a  speech  ?" 

"  No,  I  just  put  it  to  'em  that  if  we  stopped  the  work  now, 
the  natives  would  think  it  was  all  a  bluff,  and  next  time  they 
wanted  food,  they'd  expect  food  and  nothing  else.  Then 
I  said  I  thought  we  better  not  be  quitters  and  sat  down. 
One  or  two  of  them  clapped  a  little,  and  Dr.  Franklin 
pounded  with  his  feet ;  but  I  knew  at  least  half  of  them  were 
against  us;  so  I  moved  the  previous  question.  No  use 
to  prolong  it.  I  thought  they  weren't  open  to  argument. 
The  question  was  put." 

" Let's  see;  what  was  the  question?  Mr.  Freyer  had 
moved  that  the  industry  at  Akbar  be  abandoned  and  that 
you  be  sent  back  to  the  Treasury  and  the  Press." 

"That's  right.  Dad  put  it;  and  the  votes  were  seven  to 
seven." 

"That  made  it  embarrassing  for  your  father.  I  suppose 
he  had  to  cast  the  deciding  vote." 

"Now  here,"  said  Thorley,  "is  the  best  part.  Margaret 
Lawrence  got  up  and  read  an  unfinished  letter  of  Dan's  to 
the  Board  —  a  letter  about  my  work,  about  the  criticisms 
on  it  from  home,  and  about  his  judgment  as  to  whether  it 
should  go  on.  He  had  evidently  written  it,  not  in  any  offi- 
cial way,  but  because  he  felt  so  strongly  about  the  matter 
that  he  could  not  rest  without  making  it  clear  to  the  Board 
just  where  he  stood." 

Jean's  voice  was  hushed  with  wonderment. 

"And  Dan's  widow  had  the  courage  so  soon  to  get  up 
and  read  that  letter?" 

"I  don't  believe  she  minded  it.  Her  voice  didn't  even 
tremble." 

Jean  regarded  him  with  pity.  All  she  said  was  a  long- 
drawn  "Oh  .  .  .  h,"  but  something  in  her  expression 


294  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

brought  back  to  Thorley  Prescott  the  look  on  Margaret 
Lawrence's  face  as  she  had  sat  down,  after  reading  Dan's 
letter,  and  he  fell  into  a  deep  silence,  which  was  shared  by 
Jean.  It  was  she  who  broke  it  at  last,  — 

"I  would  like  to  know  how  it  all  came  out." 

"Oh,  yes  .  .  .  George  Whiting  got  up  and  said  unless 
the  motion  could  properly  be  declared  lost  by  accepting 
this  letter  as  the  casting  vote,  he  should  ask  that  the  rules 
be  suspended  and  that  he  himself  be  allowed  to  change 
to  the  other  side.  He  said  he  had  always  relied  implicitly 
on  Dan's  judgment  in  practical  matters  and  he  felt  that 
Dan's  opinion  on  this  occasion  should  carry  as  much 
weight  with  his  colleagues  as  if  Dan  himself  had  been 
present  in  body." 

"How  did  Mrs.  Whiting  like  that  ?"  „ 

"She  was  crying  hard.  I  guess  nobody's  eyes  were  very 
dry." 

"Your  stepmother?"  Jean  could  not  resist  saying. 

"Well,  she  might  not  admit  it ;  but  I  think  she'll  have  to 
hang  my  socks  back  of  the  stove,  before  she  puts  them  in 
my  bureau  drawer." 

"No  !"  said  Jean  with  awe. 

"Then  came  the  surprise  of  my  life.  Mr.  Freyer  got  up 
and  said  that  if  a  motion  were  in  order,  he  would  like  to 
move  that  the  work  at  Akbar  be  continued  with  Mr.  Thor- 
ley Prescott  at  its  head,  and  that  representations  be  made 
to  the  Board  that  the  entire  Mission  Station  at  Muramna 
felt  it  essential  that  the  industrial  feature  in  modern 
missionary  life  be  given  a  thorough  trial  in  Muramna 
Station. 

"When  he  sat  down,"  Thorley  smiled  gravely,  "I  felt 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  perhaps  it  may  sometimes 
be  necessary  for  a  person  with  a  feeble  body  to  faint  from 
shock. 

"Well,  I  guess  that's  all,"  he  added,  rising,  "and  come  to 


THE   CASTING   VOTE  •  2Q5 

think  of  it,  Jean,  I'd  better  hurry  back.     My  first  thought 
was  of  you ;   and  I  haven't  thanked  her  yet." 

"Well,"  said  Jean,  "you're  an  ungrateful  wretch,"  but 
she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  and  he,  in  the  joy  of  snatching 
at  it,  might  have  kissed  it,  if  she  had  not  quickly  pulled  it 
away. 


CHAPTER   XL 

JEAN  STUART  JOINS  THE  FUN 

THORLEY  PRESCOTT,  with  a  quick  feeling  of  remorse, 
turned  away  from  his  heart's  delight,  to  go  and  do  his  duty. 
He  opened  the  door  of  the  sitting-room  and  was  surprised  to 
find  the  little  hall  full  of  people  whose  forms  he  could  not 
distinguish  in  the  dimness.  The  voice  of  Margaret  Law- 
rence was  the  one  he  first  recognized.  She  was  saying :  — 

"Come  right  in  here,  my  dear.  It  is  so  nice  to  see  you 
again  !  Or  would  you  rather  go  upstairs  ?  " 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  another  voice,  thin  and  rather 
weak,  but  with  a  crispness  of  enunciation  that  fitted  well 
with  its  New  England  accent.  "No,  thank  you,  I'd  rather 
visit  in  the  sitting-room  for  a  minute.  You  know  you  really 
haven't  room  for  me  ;  and  I  am  going  to  ask  one  of  the  Col- 
lege people  to  give  me  a  corner." 

At  the  first  sound  of  this  new  voice,  Thorley  Prescott, 
with  his  heart  turning  over,  had  backed  in  through  the 
sitting-room  door.  Jean  Stuart,  amazed  at  this  kind  of 
entrance,  hastened  to  get  a  view  of  his  face  and  read  there 
a  fact  that  caused  her  to  wish  for  a  quick  way  of  escape; 
but  the  sitting-room  had  only  one  egress  and  that,  by  this 
time,  was  stopped  by  a  bevy  of  ladies,  among  whom  was 
Margaret  Lawrence,  holding  by  the  arm  a  thin,  pale  little 
woman  whose  figure  drooped  with  weariness  but  was  held 
rigid,  and  whose  clothes,  shabby  and  journey-worn  as  they 
were,  nevertheless  bore  an  air  of  precision  and  exquisite 
neatness. 

296 


JEAN   STUART   JOINS   THE   FUN  297 

"Oh-h-h  !"  said  Jean,  and  with  one  more  glance  at  Thor- 
ley's  profile,  she  retreated  a  step  or  two  and  stood  with  her 
back  against  the  outer  wall  between  the  two  side  windows. 

"  Oh,  Jean,"  called  Margaret, "  I'm  so  glad  you're  at  home. 

The  British  Consul  has  just  arrived  from  Tabriz  and  he  has 

•done  us  all  a  favor  by  bringing  with  him  Miss  Esther  Wil- 

cox.    Esther,  this  is  Miss  Jean  Stuart  of  whom  you  have 

heard  so  much." 

Thorley,  turning  with  his  back  to  the  front  window,  stood 
and  watched  the  two  women  as  they  shook  hands. 

Miss  Wilcox  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"I  have,  indeed,  heard  of  Miss  Stuart,"  she  said.  "It 
was  partly  in  the  hope  of  relieving  her,  that  I  ventured  to 
insist  on  being  brought  back  at  this  time  by  Mr.  Hither- 
ington."  Turning  to  Margaret,  she  added,  "He  said  it  was 
no  time  for  a  woman  to  travel." 

"I  agree  with  him  perfectly,"  announced  Thorley  Pres- 
cott. 

Miss  Wilcox  gave  a  little  jump  which  might  have  meant 
that  she  was  now  aware  for  the  first  time  of  Thorley's 
presence. 

"Ah  !"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand,  "How  do  you  do  ?" 

"Very  well,  thank  you."  Then,  after  a  perceptible  hesi- 
tation, "I  hope  .  .  .  you  did  not  find  the  journey  too  .  .  . 
trying." 

"Oh,  well,  you  know,"  broke  in  a  hearty  English  voice, 
"Miss  Wilcox  is  a  dead  game  sport.  Isn't  that  what  you 
Americans  say  when  you  wish  to  pay  the  highest  possible  com- 
pliment? I  really  was  annoyed,  rather,  when  Dr.  Tabor 
asked  me  to  escort  an  American  lady  and  a  native  Bible 
woman,  you  know ;  but  on  my  honor  I  hope  you'll  believe 
me  when  I  say  that  really  I  rather  enjoyed  it ;  gave  me  a 
chance  to  speak  something  besides  this  bally  Turkish,  don't 
you  know  ?  " 

Two  people  who  might  perhaps,  at  another  time,  havs 


298  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

found  something  to  smile  at  in  these  remarks,  had  now  found 
only  the  courage  to  face  each  other  and  had  in  consequence 
heard  nothing  from  the  Englishman  but  a  confused  murmur 
of  sound.  The  lady  for  whose  ears  the  compliment  was 
meant,  stood  deaf  and  insensible  except  to  the  visual  image 
of  the  two  pale  faces  confronting  each  other.  To  put  it 
plainly,  Esther  Wilcox  was  reading  the  thoughts  that  were 
passing  between  her  fiance  and  Jean  Stuart. 

Now  the  raucous  tones  of  Mrs.  Prescott  broke  the  mo- 
mentary stillness  that  had  followed  Mr.  Hitherington's 
speech :  — 

"Thorley,  you  are  going  back  to  the  mountain,  I  infer. 
Remember,  if  you  please,  that  it  is  your  duty  not  to  alarm 
us  by  lingering  until  the  darkness.  Miss  Wilcox,  you  will 
come  and  pass  the  night  with  us.  My  son's  room  is  quite 
at  your  disposal." 

Before  Miss  Wilcox  had  even  thought  what  to  say,  Thor- 
ley answered  in  tones  that  were  evidently  meant  to  express 
politeness, — 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  shall  need  my  room  to-night." 

"Miss  Wilcox,"  broke  in  Jean  Stuart,  "will  have  a  much 
nicer  one." 

Mrs.  Prescott  snorted. 

"Nicer,"  continued  Jean,  "because  one's  own  room  is 
always  to  be  preferred  to  any  other."  She  had  walked  over 
into  the  bevy  of  ladies  and  singled  out  Dr.  MacColl  whose 
arm  she  now  clutched.  "You  know  I'm  to  spend  the  night 
with  you.  When  did  you  say  we  had  better  be  starting? 
I'll  go  and  collect  my  things;  for  I'm  certain  you're  im- 
patient to  be  getting  back.  How's  the  '  Chief tainess '  ?" 

"The  Chieftess,  you  mean,"  snapped  Dr.  MacColl,  who 
had  not  yet  fathomed  the  situation.  She  was  always  a 
trifle  tart  in  her  remarks  when  she  had  reason  to  suspect 
herself  of  a  bit  of  unperspicacity. 

"Oh  well,  you  can  tell  me  about  her  on  the  way  out." 


JEAN   STUART   JOINS    THE   FUN  299 

Jean  managed  to  laugh  rather  naturally.  "  Good  night  all," 
she  called  as  she  left  the  room.  "Miss  Wilcox,  I  hope  your 
sleep  will  be  as  sweet  as  mine  was  on  the  night  when  I  first 
slept  in  your  room." 

Miss  Wilcox  went  out  into  the  hall  and  spoke  from  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs  which  Jean  was  climbing. 

"Please  remember  that  I  consider  the  room  yours,"  she 
said  rather  incisively;  and  Mrs.  Lawrence  wondered  later 
how  it  was  that  Esther  Wilcox  came  that  night  to  be  sleeping 
in  Ruth's  little  bed  instead  of  in  her  own  old  quarters. 
Ruth,  for  the  last  few  nights,  had  gone  back  to  sleeping  with 
her  mother.  The  child  woke  often  in  the  darkness,  and 
always  with  a  frightened  cry;  but  it  was  only  since  Jean 
Stuart  had  decided  to  leave  Muramna  that  Margaret  Law- 
rence had  yielded  to  the  comfort  of  having  her  daughter's 
little  body  within  reach,  through  the  long  anxious  nights. 

Dr.  MacColl  and  Jean  Stuart,  meanwhile,  were  spending 
a  quiet  evening.  Jean  had  been  with  the  Doctor  to  see  the 
wife  of  the  Kurdish  Chief,  Ismaili.  She  had  gone  the  rounds 
then  of  all  the  hospital  wards  where  women  and  children  were 
lying  in  comfort  and  cleanliness. 

"It  is  nice,"  Jean  admitted,  "to  see  them  well  cared  for. 
I  wish  we  had  room  for  millions  more." 

The  doctor  smiled.  Then  her  face  turned  grave,  and 
her  eyes  went  quickly  to  the  cheap  little  bookcase  with 
glass  doors  that  distorted  her  leather-bound  treasures  within. 
Jean  followed  the  direction  of  the  doctor's  eyes. 

"Listen  !"  she  cried,  "  will  you  take  three  thousand  dollars 
for  those  books  of  yours?" 

"What?"  cried  the  doctor.     "Now?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jean.  "I'll  give  you  my  check  on  the  Bank 
of  Persia,  if  you  will  sign  a  receipt  in  full." 

The  doctor,  whose  keen  eyes  had  been  fastened  on  Jean, 
now  fell  into  a  short  silence  during  which  she  steadily  looked 


300  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

through  the  glass  doors  of  the  bookcase,  until  her  bright  eyes 
were  so  full  that  she  suddenly  felt  it  wise  to  shut  them,  mur- 
muring something  about  soot  which,  by  the  way,  is  an  article 
unknown  in  Persia  because  all  the  fires  are  made  of  wood  or 
peat.  The  doctor,  having  a  strong  stomach,  was  able  to 
stand  the  smell  of  native  fuel,  and  thus  saved  a  large  pro- 
portion of  the  money  which  her  more  delicate  colleagues 
were  obliged  to  spend  for  wood. 

"Don't  do  it  unless  you  want  to,"  Jean  murmured. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  snapped  the  doctor, "  I'd  rather  you'd  have  'em. 
I  guess  you  know  that  I've  never  had  a  minute's  comfort, 
since  you  told  me  about  that  English  Earl.  You  know  well 
enough  the  dear  old  things  would  go  to  Christie's  sooner  or 
later,  if  you  didn't  take  'em  off  my  hands.  I  like  to  think 
they'll  be  in  the  library  of  my  father's  friend." 

" Don't  you  mean  your  father's  friend's  grandchild?" 

"Same  thing.  Same  thing."  The  doctor's  voice  was 
impatient.  "Come,  where's  that  check?  I'd  like  to  get 
it  over.  There's  just  one  stipulation  I  have  to  make.  The 
books  must  be  moved  before  to-morrow  night.  I  don't 
want  to  see  'em  again." 

Jean  rose  and  got  out  the  little  bag  which  she  had  brought 
with  her  to  the  College.  From  one  of  its  pockets  she  took 
a  signed  check  and  another  paper  which  she  held  in  her  hand, 
as  the  doctor,  seizing  upon  the  check,  read  it  through  and 
openly  gloated  over  the  good  round  figures  that  represented 
three  thousand  tomans  in  gold  (rather  over  three  thousand 
dollars). 

"Here's  the  receipt,"  said  Jean. 

The  doctor  took  it  impatiently.  "You  are  a  business 
woman !"  she  said. 

Jean  nodded.  "Well,  you  yourself  were  rather  avid  about 
that  check.  Here,  read  the  receipt  through,  before  you  sign 
it." 

"Stuff  and    nonsense!"   sputtered    the   doctor.     "I've 


JEAN   STUART   JOINS   THE   FUN  301 

stood  about  all  I  can  from  you."  And,  very  much  put 
about,  she  drew  a  modern  black  implement  from  her  old- 
fashioned  pocket,  and  undertook  to  sign  her  name  with 
the  end  of  her  clinical  thermometer. 

Then  Jean's  merriest  peal  of  laughter  rang  through  the 
room. 

"Oh,  come,"  she  said,  "don't  be  so  cross.  I  ...  want 
.  .  .  you  .  .  .  to  read  .  .  .  that  .  .  .  receipt." 

The  doctor  paused  to  get  out  the  glasses  which  she  some- 
times remembered  to  wear  when  she  read.  Adjusting  them 
deliberately,  she  peered  at  the  receipt.  Then  suddenly 
and  without  warning,  she  burst  into  tears  and  flung  her  arms 
around  Jean  Stuart. 

"Oh,  Jeanie,"  she  cried,  "do  you  mean  it  ?  Are  you  going 
to  give  us  that  money  for  the  Hospital  ?  And  must  I  really 
promise  to  keep  those  books  until  I  die  ?" 

Jean  sat  down  and  drew  the  stanch  little  doctor  into 
her  arms.  Her  own  eyes  were  dry;  but  it  was  a  comfort 
to  feel  on  her  bosom  the  warmth  of  those  grateful  tears. 
At  last  the  doctor  looked  up. 

"Well,  I  guess,"  she  said  —  not  without  a  sniffle,  "that 
I'll  have  to  sign ;  only  I  must  stipulate  that  the  word  'imi- 
tation' be  inserted  before  the  word  'mahogany'  in  your 
description  of  the  bookcase;  or  else  I'm  afraid  the  paper 
wouldn't  be  legal;  and,"  she  added,  shaking  her  fountain 
pen  (a  privilege  very  properly  enjoyed  by  those  who  walk 
on  mud  floors)  "I  must  be  allowed,  Jeanie,  for  once  in  my 
life  to  take  my  woman's  privilege  of  saying  '  I  told  you  so.' 
I  knew  Thanksgiving  Day,  as  soon  as  I  laid  eyes  on  you, 
that  sooner  or  later  you'd  be  joining  our  fun." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Jean,  "you  needn't  lay  claim  to  any 
cleverness.  You  know  very  well  whose  fault  it  is." 

"What !"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  glancing  at  her  queerly. 

"You  took  an  unfair  advantage,"  Jean  replied,  with  a 
look  in  her  eyes,  which  no  one  had  ever  seen  before.  "Don't 


302  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

attempt  to  deny  that  you  began  praying  for  me  that  very 
night." 

The  doctor  gazed  at  her  with  reverent  amazement. 

"There's  one  thing,  though," added  Jean,  "that  even  your 
prayers  can  never  do." 

"Perhaps  not,"  admitted  the  doctor.  "The  prayers 
even  of  our  dearest  friends  sometimes  seem  to  fail ;  but  it's 
then  that  the  Lord  has  to  set  us  praying  for  ourselves." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

WOMAN  TO  WOMAN 

THE  Tuesday  session  of  Jean  Stuart's  little  school  was 
almost  at  an  end.  Edith  Franklin  with  much  hesitation 
was  reciting  a  proposition  in  Geometry.  Edward  was  get- 
ting ready  to  pounce  on  all  her  mistakes,  as  soon  as  she  had 
finished.  Mary  Freyer,  looking  dreamily  at  the  black- 
board, was  making  words  to  her  favorite  Chopin  prelude. 
Sammy  Whiting  reading  "  Treasure  Island  "  behind  his  Geog- 
raphy, flattered  himself  that  his  teacher  did  not  know  it. 
The  other  children  were  doing  their  duty,  a  wonderful  thing, 
since  there  were  four  of  them  and  they  had  been  doing  it 
for  at  least  nineteen  minutes. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door ;  and  Ruth  Lawrence,  who 
was  monitor  for  that  week,  rose  to  answer  it. 

"  It's  Miss  Wilcox, "  she  announced.  "  I  guess  she's  come 
to  visit  us,  'cause  this  used  to  be  her  school." 

"She  is  very  welcome,"  declared  Miss  Stuart,  stepping 
down  from  the  platform,  "and,  children,  you  may  all  leave 
your  seats  and  help  me  say  how  glad  we  are  to  see  Miss 
Wilcox  back." 

These  words  of  Jean's  were  sincere.  At  the  same  time, 
she  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  pleased  that  the  eyes  of 
several  children  turned  wistfully  to  her,  even  as  they  greeted 
her  predecessor.  Evidently  they  were  glad  to  kiss  Miss 
Wilcox  and  welcome  her  back  as  a  private  person.  A  little 
too  evidently  they  preferred  to  keep  Miss  Stuart  as  their 
teacher. 


304  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"She  is  a  trifle  pursy  with  them,"  thought  Jean.  "I 
suppose  she  thinks  it  necessary ;  for  she  really  loves  them, 
and  she  could  be  an  awfully  good  teacher  if  she  let  herself 
go." 

Now  Jean  decreed  that  regular  work  must  stop ;  the  best 
of  the  pieces  must  be  said ;  the  new  books  and  pictures  and 
flowering  plants  must  be  shown ;  and  each  child  must  tell 
how  much  progress  he  had  made  during  the  year. 

"That's  fine,"  said  Miss  Wilcox,  letting  herself  go  to  such 
an  extent  that  her  mouth  lost  its  pursy  expression.  "I'm 
so  glad  you've  had  such  a  splendid  teacher,  and  I  hope  she 
will  stay  and  teach  you  just  as  long  as  she  can." 

"We  love  you,  too,"  said  little  Harriet  Franklin,  snuggling 
into  her  lap  and  patting  her  cheek  with  a  frail  little  hand. 

"And  we'd  like  to  have  you  both  for  teachers,"  chimed  in 
Mary  Freyer,  "  only  I  suppose  that  would  be  too  much  luxury 
for  missionary  children." 

"Huh, "  said  the  irrepressible  Sammy,  "do  you  call  school 
a  luxury?  Gosh,  I  don't.  It's  after  time,  Miss  Stuart. 
Can't  we  go?" 

Miss  Wilcox  looked  to  see  how  her  successor  would  treat 
this  outburst.  She  herself  could  not  have  let  the  boy's 
language  go  unreproved.  It  had  been  one  of  the  unsolved 
problems  of  her  life  in  Muramna,  where  that  child  picked  up 
the  words  he  used  so  glibly.  But  Miss  Stuart  only  said :  — • 

"Certainly,  Sammy,  if  you  don't  care  to  stay  —  No,  you 
needn't  take  any  books  home  with  you.  We'll  suspend  all 
lessons  in  honor  of  Miss  Wilcox  — 

"But,  Miss  Stuart,  there's  a  book  I  want  to  take  home." 

Miss  Wilcox  marvelled  at  this,  on  the  part  of  Sammy,  and 
marvelled  still  more  that  Miss  Stuart  should  discourage 
him. 

"Any  book,  Sammy,  that  you  have  been  using  in  school 
deserves  a  vacation  this  afternoon.  Good-by." 

She  dismissed  him  smilingly;  and  "Treasure  Island"  was 


WOMAN  TO   WOMAN  305 

unread  that  night,  the  schoolroom  windows  being  barred, 
as  they  were  directly  over  the  wall. 

In  a  short  time  Mrs.  Franklin  sent  word  that  dinner  was 
ready.  She  begged  that  the  two  teachers  would  stay  and 
dine  with  her.  Miss  Wilcox  had  already  agreed  to  stay; 
and  when  Miss  Stuart  tried  to  beg  off,  she  was  detained  by 
force. 

After  dinner,  Miss  Wilcox  found  a  chance  to  say,  "Miss 
Stuart,  I  wish  to  have  a  talk  with  you.  Let's  go  over  to 
Dr.  MacColl's  room."  She  knew  as  well  as  Jean  that  the 
doctor  would  be  out  all  the  afternoon. 

"Dear  me,"  said  Miss  Stuart,  "is  it  as  imminent  as  all 
that  ?  I  thought  you  would  like  to  rest  a  little  before  you 
took  back  your  school  work.  Let  me  finish  out  this  week 
and  perhaps  next  week,  too.  My  friends  cannot  arrive  for 
at  least  a  fortnight,  the  gentlemen  tell  me,  even  if  they  start 
at  once  on  receiving  my  telegram,  and  travel  fast." 

"This  isn't  about  the  school,"  said  Miss  Wilcox. 

"How  mysterious  you  sound,"  said  Jean.  "Have  we 
friends  in  common,  of  whom  I  do  not  know?"  She  hoped 
she  was  speaking  as  lightly  as  she  meant  to  speak. 

Miss  Wilcox  looked  intrepidly  up  into  the  gray  eyes  which 
began  to  look  defiant  as  they  resolutely  met  hers. 

"Miss  Stuart,"  she  said,  "I  have  asked  for  the  privilege 
of  a  talk  with  you.  I  can  write  what  I  have  to  say,  if  you 
prefer  it." 

Now  Jean  Stuart  would  cheerfully  have  drawn  a  very 
large  check,  if  she  could  have  brought  herself  to  snub  Miss 
Wilcox,  in  her  old  cheerful  and  thorough  manner.  She 
looked  down  at  the  colorless  little  schoolma'am  from  South 
Brambletree,  Massachusetts,  and  after  a  very  long  moment, 
yielded  to  the  request. 

The  two  young  women,  having  said  good-by  to  their 
hostess,  walked  off  together  across  the  yard,  "As  ill-matched 
a  pair,"  thought  Mrs.  Franklin,  watching  from  the  window, 


306  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"  as  I  have  seen  for  many  a  day.  It's  a  good  thing  for  Esther 
that  she  isn't  in  the  habit  of  thinking  about  herself.  I  can 
see  that  she  admires  Miss  Stuart  without  an  idea  of  the  com- 
parisons that  might  be  made  between  them!"  Yet  Mrs. 
Franklin  had  a  mind-reading  faculty  that  added  awe  to  the 
affection  with  which  the  Persians  regarded  her. 

Jean  Stuart  was  making  a  nest  for  her  visitor  among  the 
cushions  of  the  doctor's  lounge.  She  herself  chose  a  chair 
whose  high  back  she  turned  toward  the  light. 

"Now,"  she  said  airily,  "in  the  words  of  Sammy  Whiting, 
'Fire  away.'" 

Miss  Wilcox  drew  herself  together  with  her  elbows  on  her 
knees  and  her  sharp  little  chin  propped  up  in  both  hands. 
Her  brow  was  wrinkled,  and  her  eyes  showed  that  she  was 
thinking  hard ;  but  she  did  not  look  at  Jean  nor  speak  for 
several  hours  (or  so  it  seemed). 

Jean  got  up  and  went  into  the  bedroom,  coming  back  with 
gloves  of  the  doctor's  which  she  proceeded  to  mend.  It 
was  impossible  for  her  to  sit  still  any  longer  ;  and  she  was  de- 
termined not  to  make  a  move  toward  opening  the  conversa- 
tion. Miss  Wilcox  should  have  it  all  her  own  way  —  now. 

At  last  Miss  Wilcox  spoke. 

"I  thought  I  had  planned  just  what  I  would  say  to  you; 
but  it's  more  difficult  than  I  expected.  You  see  I  can't  tell 
what  is  likely  to  make  you  listen." 

Still  Jean  was  silent. 

"Your  saying  nothing  makes  me  think  that  you  know 
what  I  want  to  discuss.  Couldn't  you  make  it  a  little 
easier  ?  " 

"I  am  quite  at  a  loss,"  declared  Jean.  "You  said  it  was 
nothing  about  the  school.  I  could  talk  about  those  chil- 
dren all  day.  Come,  let's  put  off  this  subject  that  wrinkles 
your  forehead,  and  give  ourselves  over  — 

Esther  Wilcox  held  up  her  hand,  rose  from  the  sofa,  and 
stood  before  Jean  Stuart. 


WOMAN   TO   WOMAN  307 

"Look  at  me,"  she  said  bluntly  and  dispassionately. 
"Do  I  stand  a  chance  of  regaining  a  man's  affection  after 
he  has  fallen  in  love  with  such  a  woman  as  you  ? " 

Jean  grew  scarlet.  "What  are  you  accusing  me  of?" 
she  said,  angrily. 

"Of  nothing,"  said  the  other  slowly.  "I'm  simply  asking 
you  to  see  that  I'm  not  a  fool.  How  could  I  expect  now 
to  recover  the  allegiance  of  Th-" 

Jean  Stuart  interrupted  her,  speaking  hurriedly  with  a 
formal  smile  that  was  intended  to  be  gracious.  "If  I  had 
dreamed  that  you  were  ready  to  talk  with  me  about  your 
engagement  I  should  have  wasted  no  time  before  proffer- 
ing my  good  wishes.  When  I  saw  you  with  Mr.  Prescott 
yesterday,  I  knew  at  once  that  you  were  his  fiancee." 

"  I  was  his  fiancee.     To-day  Mr.  Prescott  is  not  engaged." 

"I  am  very  sorry.  I  told  Mr.  Prescott  yesterday  that 
I  considered  him  most  fortunate  in  possessing  your  love." 

"I  know  you  did,"  said  Miss  Wilcox,  a  painful  flush  rising 
in  her  pale  cheeks.  "He  said  you  begged  him  to  stick  to 
me."  There  was  a  little  pause,  while  Jean  speechlessly 
wondered  what  else  he  had  said  about  her.  "Mr.  Prescott 
was  honest  enough,"  continued  Miss  Wilcox,  "not  to  say  that 
he  would  like  to  do  so.  He  told  me  plainly  that  he  loves 
you.  Even  before  he  said  that,  I  had  given  him  his  free- 
dom. I  came  back  to  Muramna,  in  fact,  prepared  to  break 
the  engagement.  I  should  have  done  so,  of  course,  long 
ago,  had  I  ever  received  the  letter  he  wrote  me  in  the  winter. 
You  were  entirely  right  about  that  being  lost." 

Jean  started.     "He  told  you  that?"  she  gasped. 

"Yes,  I  was  grateful  to  you  for  understanding  me  so 
quickly.  That  made  me  know  I  could  talk  with  you." 
Jean  tried  to  interrupt  but  was  stopped  by  a  determined 
gesture.  "I  should  be  miserable  if  I  knew  that  because  of 
my  selfishness  Thorley  was  missing  —  everything.  He 
loves  you,"  the  words  went  rushing  on  in  spite  of  Jean,  "as 


308  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

he  never  dreamt  of  loving  me.  He  was  just  horribly  lonely, 
that  was  all ;  and  I  made  it  a  little  easier  for  the  time  being. 
You  aren't  going  to  let  it  spoil  his  life,  are  you,  because  I 
once  had  just  a  little  bit  of  him  ?  You  know  that  now  he  be- 
longs every  atom  to  you." 

Jean  moved  impatiently.  "My  dear,"  she  said,  "you 
are  as  kind  and  good  as  you  can  be;  but  you  are  talking 
nonsense.  I  couldn't  marry  this  man,  even  if  I  loved  him." 

"You  do  love  him,"  said  the  girl,  her  voice  suddenly 
deepening.  "You  love  him  as  you  will  never  love  again." 

"He  told  you  so?"    The  words  were  biting. 

"Not  one  word  passed  between  Thorley  and  me  about 
your  feeling  for  him." 

"Yet  you  say  I  love  him?    Who  is  your  informant?" 

"Yourself.     You  told  it  to  me  yesterday." 

"I'm  afraid  you  have  a  vivid  imagination,"  said  Jean. 
"What  made  you  think  —  as  you  did  ? " 

"Ah,  you  can't  even  say  it,  don't  you  see  ?  And  yester- 
day when  he  first  came  in,  before  you  knew  that  I  was  the 
other  girl,  when  you  had  forgotten  me  in  fact,  your  eyes 
answered  his  for  just  a  second." 

"Except  to  a  jealous  woman  — " 

Esther  held  up  her  hand  and  went  on  speaking  fast  and 
quietly. 

"And  then,  when  you  knew  who  I  was,  you  left  the  room 
and  the  house  as  soon  as  you  could,  and  when  you  left,  your 
eyes  searched  my  face,  but  you  never  even  glanced  at 
him." 

"Do  you  call  that  love?  How  do  you  know  I  wasn't 
flirting?" 

"Don't  lie  to  me,  please,"  said  Miss  Wilcox.  "In  pur- 
pose you  are  lying,"  as  Jean  made  an  angry  gesture.  "Would 
you  care  to  remember  this  denial,  if  word  were  brought  to- 
morrow that  Thorley  Prescott  had  been  killed?" 

"Are  you  putting  me  to  the  torture?"  asked  Jean,  with 


WOMAN   TO   WOMAN  309 

a  queer  smile  on  her  white  lips.  "You  know  that  I  am  to 
blame  for  the  enmity  of  Hadji  Husain." 

"Ah,  forgive  me,"  cried  the  other.  "I'm  afraid  I'm  for- 
getting everything  in  the  desire  to  win  my  cause." 

"Your  cause!  Then  why  don't  you  imitate  me  and 
Sammy  Whiting,  and  '  shinny  on  your  own  side '  ?  I'm  going 
away  in  less  than  three  weeks.  During  that  time,"  she 
smiled  crookedly,  "I  promise  you  not  to  see  him  again. 
And  afterward,—  She  paused,  and  by  a  supreme  effort 
summoned  to  her  face  the  shadow  of  her  own  smile.  Her 
tone  was  confidential  and  very  friendly  as  she  added,  "You 
must  tell  me  what  I  am  to  send  you  from  New  York.  Shall 
it  be  silver,  or  the  wedding  gown  —  or  both  ?  " 

"Oh  don't,  don't,  don't !"  cried  Esther,  covering  her  face 
and  bursting  into  tears.  "Can't  you  see  it's  his  happiness 
I'm  fighting  for  ?  The  words  came  out  between  sobs,  and 
at  the  last  she  threw  herself  downward  among  the  cushions, 
trying  to  stifle  the  telltale  sounds  that  mortified  her  to  the 
quick  of  her  New  England  soul. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  stop  crying,"  commanded  Jean,  sud- 
denly irritated  past  endurance.  "His  happiness  depends 
on  you  alone." 

"There's  so  much  more  that  I  must  tell  you  and  —  I  — 
can't  —  now." 

The  depth  of  her  sobs  began  to  alarm  Jean ;  for  it  seemed 
as  if  they  would  tear  the  frail  body.  Jean,  like  some  men, 
became  angry  when  a  woman  cried.  She  seldom  did  it  her- 
self. Now  suddenly  there  came  to  her  a  picture  of  herself 
crying  against  the  white  pickets  of  the  cemetery  gate  up  at 
Akbar,  and  of  Thorley  Prescott  standing  patiently  with  his 
back  turned,  waiting  for  her  to  finish.  She  went  meekly 
out  to  the  little  kitchen  and  got  a  glass  of  water;  but 
Esther's  thin  little  hand  motioned  her  away. 

"Please  go  into  the  bedroom  just  a  minute,"  pled  the 
girl.  "Before  we  talk  again  I  must  — 


310  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

Jean  thought  it  was  obvious  what  the  other  must  do. 
She  left  the  water  and  a  clean  handkerchief.  Then  she 
disappeared,  wishing  the  next  moment  that  she  could  be 
rude  enough  to  climb  out  of  the  bedroom  window ;  for  there 
was  no  other  way  of  escape  now,  except  through  the  sitting- 
room. 

She  shook  her  head  and  almost  smiled  as  she  thought  of 
her  long  body  dangling  from  the  doctor's  window  and  the 
horrified  faces  of  the  natives  staring  at  her  from  behind  the 
hospital  blinds !  It  flitted  through  her  mind  that  in  all 
Muramna  only  Sammy  Whiting  would  sympathize  with  such  a 
performance.  Then  it  came  to  her  that  there  was  one  other. 
Instantly  his  strong  figure  stood  before  her  mind.  She  saw 
that  lenient  look  in  his  eyes — a  look,  she  believed,  reserved 
for  her  alone.  Jean  Stuart  clenched  her  hands  and  began 
to  pace  the  floor,  but  quietly,  lest  that  woman  in  the  other 
room  should  hear  her. 


CHAPTER  XLH 

ALL  THE  DIFFERENCE 

ESTHER  was  no  longer  sobbing.  A  silence  followed,  which 
Jean  felt  through  the  wall,  more  painfully  than  she  had  felt 
the  sound  of  grief.  In  the  pause  her  soul  writhed  as 
Esther's  body  had  writhed  among  the  pillows.  Jean  Stuart 
had  always  been  a  proud  woman.  She  had  held  herself 
above  the  petty  failings  which  degraded  the  majority  of 
the  human  race.  Faults,  she  admitted  in  her  nature,  but 
they  were  faults  which  she  felt  to  be  almost  ennobling. 
Pride  was  one  of  them :  pride  of  family,  pride  of  her  own 
good  breeding,  pride  that  made  it  easy  and  delightful  to 
give  and  almost  impossible  to  accept  what  meant  sacrifice 
to  the  giver.  Another  fault  in  which  she  gloried,  was  the 
power  of  deep  and  lasting  resentment. 

Jean  Stuart  had  once  received  an  injury.  She  had  never 
forgiven  the  man  who  had  inflicted  it.  He  had  been  en- 
gaged to  her.  One  month  before  the  day  set  for  the  wedding, 
she  had  found  him  making  love  to  her  sister.  She  had  made 
arrangements  at  once  to  have  Delia  marry  him.  She  had 
smoothed  Delia's  way  with  her  father  and  had  succeeded 
in  making  even  him  believe  that  she  was  glad  to  be  the 
maid-of-honor,  rather  than  the  bride.  And  so  she  had  been 
glad,  with  a  fierce  joy,  exulting  in  her  escape  from  such  a 
man,  lusting  for  the  day  when  she  should  make  him  suffer. 

Toward  her  sister  she  had  no  such  resentment.  She  only 
despised  the  poor  thing.  Jean  had  found  it  easy  enough  to 
be  good  to  Delia,  even  to  nurse  her  when,  after  the  birth  of 


312  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

her  only  child,  she  had  become  an  invalid.  Delia  had  so 
abjectly  needed  Jean.  She  had  dared  at  last,  to  send  and 
beg  for  her  sister,  though  the  husband  said  Jean  would 
never  humble  herself  to  come.  Delia  had  told  Jean  his 
very  words,  and  they  were  one  more  count  against  him. 
For  a  whole  year,  Jean  had  lived  in  his  house  (which  after 
all  was  Delia's),  loathing  him  but  seeing,  thank  Heaven, 
very  little  of  him.  Then  Delia  had  died,  leaving  little  Mary 
to  Jean.  She  marvelled  at  the  time  that  the  husband 
should  behave  so  decently  about  the  funeral,  about  Mary, 
almost,  it  seemed  then,  about  the  money.  He  showed  what 
seemed  even  to  her,  like  real  grief ;  he  was  a  pretty  good  imi- 
tation of  a  man.  She  was  even  grateful  to  him  for  giving 
her  Mary;  but  she  never  ceased  for  one  instant  to  hate 
him. 

Another  year  passed  by.  Mary  and  she  were  perfectly 
happy  together.  Jean  had  come  in  those  last  months  to 
tolerate  Delia's  weaknesses,  but  she  could  not  miss  her. 
Nor  apparently  did  the  child.  Delia  had  been  a  feeble 
mother  as  well  as  a  disloyal  sister. 

Mary's  father  came  sometimes  to  see  the  child  ;  and  Jean, 
while  she  still  nourished  that  old  hatred,  began  almost  to 
tolerate  the  man  who  had  been  the  cause  of  it.  Then  he 
proposed  to  her.  When  she  indignantly  refused  him,  he 
made  it  clear  that  he  thought  she  had  been  caring  for  him 
all  those  years.  Then  the  old  hatred  combined  with  a  new 
fury  of  uncontrolled  rage ;  and  there  was  an  explosion.  The 
man  who  had  been  impervious  all  these  years  to  unspoken 
contempt,  took  fire  at  Jean's  first  word.  His  vanity  was 
wounded.  It  was  his  turn  to  hate ;  and  his  chance  for  re- 
venge was  immediate.  He  took  Mary  away  from  Jean. 
And  then  Mary  died. 

We  who  have  known  what  grief  is,  when  felt  by  an  unfor- 
giving heart,  we  can  understand  why  Jean  Stuart  felt  that 
she  must  escape  herself,  if  she  had  to  run  to  the  very  edge 


ALL   THE   DIFFERENCE  313 

of  the  world.  And  we  know  how  it  was  with  her  heart,  when, 
after  running  all  those  miles  through  untold  dangers,  she 
finally  reached  the  edge  and  sat  down  again  to  see  if  her 
burden  had  been  left  behind. 

Now  other  burdens  had  been  added  —  burdens  for  other 
people  on  whom  her  presence  had  brought  sorrow.  Mar- 
garet Lawrence.  She  winced  at  the  thought.  And  Esther  ! 

"Oh,  God,"  Jean  Stuart  sat  down  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands.  "Oh,  God,  if  there  is  a  God,  why  did  you  let 
that  good  man  die  ?  And  why,  oh  why,  have  you  let  me  dis- 
grace myself  ?  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  didn't  mean  to.  Oh, 
if  /  could  have  been  the  one  to  die ;  for  I  can't  bear  to  live 
and  hate  myself." 

And  then  it  came  to  her  with  a  sudden  awful  vividness 
that  she,  Jean  Stuart,  was  going  home  to  punish  a  man  by 
taking  away  his  money.  She,  Jean  Stuart,  was  still  lusting 
after  all  these  years,  to  take  revenge  on  Mercer  Bryant. 
And  yet  what  had  she  done?  She  had  caused  the  death 
of  a  noble  man.  She  had  robbed  Margaret  of  her  husband. 
She  had  not  meant  to  hurt  any  one,  that  was  true.  Had 
Delia  meant  to  hurt  her,  Delia  who  could  not  bear  to  see 
a  mouse  in  pain  ? 

And  now  how  was  it  all  ending,  all  that  pride  in  her  own 
strength  and  faithfulness  ?  She,  Jean  Stuart,  who  despised 
her  dead  sister  Delia,  had  stolen  away  the  love  of  a  man 
who  was  pledged  to  another  woman  and  had  let  him  know 
that  she  loved  him.  And  here  was  the  other  woman  offering 
him  to  her  as  she  had  offered  Mercer  Bryant  to  Delia. 

Jean  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room  again.  Pres- 
ently she  was  kneeling  at  the  bed  and  her  hands  were  clutch- 
ing at  her  head.  Not  one  sound  came  from  her  set  lips; 
but  her  soul  was  groaning  and  sobbing  as  if  it  would  tear 
its  way  out  of  her  body. 

Then  the  door  opened  quietly  and  Esther  Wilcox  came 
into  the  room.  "Are  you  praying?"  she  asked  gently. 


314  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

"That's  what  I've  been  doing.  Perhaps  if  we  prayed  to- 
gether, the  Lord  would  show  us  both,  just  what  He  wants." 

Jean,  as  she  hastily  rose  to  face  the  invader,  heard  only 
the  one  word.  "Praying!"  she  said  with  a  sneer.  "I 
praying !" 

Her  look  was  so  terrible  that  Esther  began  to  tremble. 

Jean  Stuart  darted  across  the  room  and  took  the  smaller 
woman  by  the  shoulders. 

"Look  here,"  she  said,  " I  know  what  hate  is.  You  don't. 
I  have  hated  a  man  for  seven  years  because  he  turned  from 
me  to  another  woman.  I  despised  my  own  sister  until  she 
died,  and  after.  Do  you  suppose  I'm  going  to  let  any  woman 
despise  me!" 

Esther  gently  put  her  cold  hands  over  the  hot  ones  that 
were  gripping  her  so  tightly. 

"How  could  I  despise  you,"  she  said,  "or  hate — anybody 
else?" 

"How  could  you  help  it?  I  couldn't.  I  didn't  want 
to." 

"Yes,  that's  just  it.     I  do  want  to." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should.  I  don't.  I  shall  go  on 
hating  through  all  eternity.  And  so  will  you  —  even  now 
—  even  if  I  go  away  —  and  you  are  married  to  him  —  you'll 
hate  me  —  and  it  will  be  right." 

Esther  Wilcox  gazed  steadily  into  the  wild  eyes  so  full  of 
misery. 

"I  loathe  myself,"  whispered  Jean  Stuart,  just  above  her 
breath. 

"Miss  Stuart,"  said  Esther  Wilcox  quietly,  "you've  been 
living  with  Margaret  Lawrence  and  Dr.  Lawrence.  Have 
you  seen  from  either  of  them,  any  sign  of  resentment  toward 
Hadji  Husain?" 

"No,"  said  Jean.  Her  form  relaxed.  Her  eyes  looked 
less  wild.  There  came  into  them  the  puzzled  look  which 
was  often  in  them  these  days,  when  they  looked  at  Margaret. 


ALL   THE   DIFFERENCE  315 

"Have  I  hurt  you?"  she  added  quickly,  feeling  for  the  first 
time  the  tension  of  her  hands. 

"Sit  down.     You  are  trembling,"  said  Esther. 

"No,  let's  stand  just  so." 

"Why  is  it  that  Margaret  can  forgive  when  you  could 
not?" 

"Forgive  !    You  think  she  has  forgiven  him." 

"Don't  you?" 

"I  —  suppose  —  so."    The  words  came  very  slowly. 

"Have  you  heard  her  say  the  Lord's  Prayer  since  Dan 
was  killed?" 

"Yes." 

"Does  she  say  'forgive  us  our  debts  as  we  forgive  our 
debtors'?" 

"Yes." 

"If  you  were  Margaret,  would  you  feel  safe  in  asking  the 
Lord  to  forgive  you  as  she  has  forgiven  the  Hadji  ?  " 

"I  never  thought  of  that." 

"You  say  I  shall  never  forgive  you  —  nor  Thorley." 

Esther  paused,  and  a  smile  shone  from  her  pale  face,  mak- 
ing it  suddenly  very  beautiful. 

"  Oh,  Jean,"  she  cried,  "  don't  you  see  ?  I  am  a  Christian, 
too." 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

JEAN  IS  READY 

ALL  through  the  night  Jean  Stuart  kept  her  vigil.  It  was 
a  great  question  that  she  had  to  decide  and  she  needed  help ; 
but  even  of  her  friend,  Dr.  MacColl,  she  could  not  ask  it. 
She  was  glad  that  the  little  lady  had  consented  to  let  her 
sleep  on  a  couch  in  the  study.  She  could  not  have  stayed 
in  the  room,  that  night,  with  any  human  being.  From  ex- 
perience in  Kurdistan  she  knew  that  the  Doctor  was  a  sound 
sleeper.  So  she  did  not  hesitate,  when  her  thoughts  became 
more  poignant  than  she  could  bear,  to  get  up  and  pace  the 
floor  of  the  little  room.  She  tried  once  in  a  while,  to  read 
one  of  the  old  books  that  now  belonged  in  a  sense  to  her ; 
but  that  she  found  impossible.  Her  mind  carried  her  back 
into  the  past. 

That  night  Jean  Stuart,  as  in  the  mind  of  a  drowning 
man,  lived  over  every  moment  of  her  remembered  life.  It 
was  not  until  the  dawn  began  to  break,  that  she  dared  to 
begin  facing  the  future ;  and  then  a  very  strange  experience 
awaited  her :  — 

Jean  Stuart,  formerly  of  New  York  and  Bar  Harbor,  dis- 
covered that  she  had  been  forced  to  forgive  her  brother-in- 
law  Mercer  Bryant.  It  was  a  process  which  she  no  longer 
had  to  dread.  She  found  that  somehow,  in  the  crucible  of 
contact  with  Esther  Wilcox,  her  old  hatred  had  been  melted 
by  the  fire  of  understanding,  into  a  great  pity. 

Jean  Stuart  had  learned  to  have  compassion  on  her  enemy. 

But  the  descendant  of  Grandfather  Jonathan  had  yet 

316 


JEAN   IS   READY  317 

to  learn  the  art  of  accepting  forgiveness ;  and  she  had  far 
to  go  before  she  would  be  able  to  forgive  herself.  When 
morning  broke,  Jean  with  her  mind  made  up,  knelt  down  by 
the  couch,  and  repeated  under  her  breath  the  whole  of  the 
Lord's  Prayer.  Then  she  got  into  bed  and  fell  asleep. 

At  breakfast,  Jean,  under  the  doctor's  keen  regard,  suc- 
ceeded in  keeping  up  a  fitful  merriment.  After  breakfast 
the  doctor  went  her  rounds,  refusing  Jean's  request  to  go 
along. 

"You  stay  here  and  rest,"  said  the  square  little  woman, 
opening  the  door.  "If  you  need  work,  you  can  typewrite 
my  notes  on  that  Kurdish  Chieftess's  case." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jean,  "I  have  never  used  a  type- 
writer." 

"Time  you  learned  then.  The  things  are  all  on  the  table 
over  there.  Good-by." 

Jean  went  to  work.  Scarcely  had  she  become  absorbed 
in  this  new  chore,  when  she  heard  the  gate  of  the  Compound 
swing  open  and  a  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  sudden  noise  after  a  white  night,  that  made  her  heart 
lose  a  beat.  She  stopped  writing  for  an  instant ;  then  just 
as  she  had  herself  in  hand  and  was  finding  the  next  letter, 
there  came  on  the  doctor's  door,  a  thundering  knock. 
Jean,  with  her  heart  making  up  for  lost  time,  went  slowly 
to  the  door.  There  on  the  the  step  below  her,  stood  the 
Thunderer  with  his  head  already  bared,  and  a  most  ingratiat- 
ing smile  on  his  face.  Behind  him  out  in  the  yard  she  saw, 
while  struggling  for  a  word,  the  Kurdish  Sheikh  Ismaili 
and  four  of  his  followers  tethering  their  horses,  while  Iblis, 
one  of  Ismaili's  sons,  led  away  the  Fiend  to  the  Hospital 
stable.  They  had  ridden  down,  as  was  their  custom  these 
days,  to  guard  the  Black  Saib. 

"The  doctor's  out  and  I  am  very  busy,"  began  Jean, 
trying  not  to  open  the  door  any  wider;  but  he  was  inside 


318  THE   GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

and  had  almost  taken  her  into  his  arms,  when  she,  pushing 
him  away  with  all  her  might,  found  breath  to  say:— 

"Go  away,  Mr.  Fresco tt.  What  right  have  you  to  touch 
me  ?  Yesterday  you  were  engaged  to  Esther  Wilcox." 

"Yesterday,"  declared  Thorley,  coming  toward  her  with 
his  arms  still  out,  "is  a  thousand  years  away." 

Jean  put  a  small  rocking-chair  between  them  and  stood 
her  ground. 

"To-day,"  she  said  firmly,  "has  scarcely  begun;  and 
between  you  and  me,  there  will  be  no  to-morrow.  I  want 
you  to  go  away,  and  go  now.  I  intend  never  to  see  you 
again.  When  Robert  Courtlandt  and  his  sister  come,  I 
shall  go  home  with  them ;  and  I  will  never  come  back." 

"Yes,  you  will,"  said  Thorley,  between  his  clenched  teeth. 
"If  you  get  away  with  that  fellow,  which  you  won't,  if  I 
can  help  it,  I'll  come  and  bring  you  back." 

"You  can't  leave  here,"  Jean  answered. 

"I  will,"  said  Thorley. 

"Then  you'll  be  a  coward  and  a  deserter." 

Thorley,  very  white,  smiled  queerly. 

"I'm  willing  to  take  that,"  he  said.  "Who  is  this  Court- 
landt?" 

"An  old  and  tried  friend." 

"Has  he  asked  you  to  marry  him  ?" 

"What  concern  is  that  of  yours  ?" 

"You  know.     Has  he?" 

"Well  —  yes."  She  could  not  help  giving  the  answer, 
but  forced  herself  when  the  words  had  been  slowly  uttered, 
to  look  up  and  meet  his  eyes.  "And  I  think  I  shall  marry 
him,"  she  added,  "when  we  reach  New  York." 

Then  the  temper  of  Thorley  Prescott  got  the  better  of 
him.  Jean  stood  there  quiet,  listening  until  he  had  finished. 
He  stood  before  her  at  last,  shaking  with  spent  rage,  and 
silent,  because  his  parched  throat  could  utter  no  more 
words. 


JEAN   IS   READY  319 

"What  a  manly  person  you  are !"  Jean's  face  was  red 
with  scorn  and  her  eyes  blazed,  darker,  for  the  moment,  than 
his. 

With  the  cry  of  a  dog  that  is  spurned  by  his  master,  Thor- 
ley  made  blindly  for  the  door.  Jean,  seeing  him  go,  sank 
back  on  the  couch  and  began  to  sob  out  his  name. 

"Oh,  Thorley,  forgive  me,"  she  cried;  but  even  then  she 
uttered  no  plea  for  him  to  come  back ;  and  had  he  turned, 
she  would  have  had  strength,  she  felt,  still  to  send  him  away. 

Thorley  did  not  turn.  A  minute  later  she  came  to  her- 
self at  hearing  hoof  beats.  Rushing  to  the  door,  she  was 
just  in  time  to  see  the  Fiend  galloping  through  the  gate 
with  Thorley  hatless  and  bent  over,  slapping  him  on  the 
flank  and  yelling  to  the  gateman  to  get  out  of  the  way. 

Then  Jean  Stuart  was  frightened.  She,  better  than  any- 
one else  but  one,  knew  the  disaster  that  might  come  to  Thor- 
ley if  he  rode  alone.  She  and  the  Kurdish  Sheikh  Ismaili 
had  talked  the  whole  matter  over.  She  knew  that  Hadji 
Husain  was  at  large,  shadowing  Prescott,  and  that  up  to 
this  time,  he  had  not  struck  because  the  Sheikh  had  taken 
care  that  he  could  not.  She  knew  that  the  Sheikh  never 
had  let  Prescott  out  of  his  sight  since  the  day  that  his  sons 
had  brought  back  the  body  of  Dan  Lawrence ;  and  she  knew 
that  even  now,  doubtless,  Husain  must  be  watching  behind 
some  ambush,  which,  sooner  or  later,  Thorley  Prescott 
would  surely  pass. 

This  flash  of  thought  had  not  burned  out,  when,  from 
the  stable  with  a  shout  the  old  Sheikh  came  running. 

"Where  is  he  —  the  Black  Saib?"  he  yelled  in  Turkish, 
and  Jean  answered  him :  — 

"He's  gone.  Give  me  a  horse  quickly.  We  must  ride 
after  him." 

"What  value  is  such  a  woman!"  sneered  the  Sheikh. 
"  Could  you  not  keep  him  ?  My  son  Hamdi  has  just  ridden 
in  to  say  that  Husain  is  in  hiding  where  the  Saib  passes  to 


32O  THE    GOODLY   FELLOWSHIP 

the  river.  He  came  and  hid  himself  just  after  we  had  passed 
this  morning,  and  how  he  cursed,  my  son  says,  at  being  late  ! 
Well,  he  shall  curse  again  but  not  more  than  once."  His 
horse  was  tethered  in  front  of  the  Hospital  and  he  was 
making  his  preparations  and  swinging  into  the  saddle,  as  he 
spoke.  The  horse  of  another  Kurd  stood  near  by.  Jean 
Stuart  had  freed  this  horse  and  was  in  the  queer  wooden 
saddle,  using  the  peak  as  a  pommel,  ready  to  start  with  the 
Sheikh,  though  the  stirrup  was  much  too  short  for  her. 

In  his  own  fierce  language,  the  Sheikh  screamed  for  his 
tribesmen  and,  as  they  issued  wildly  from  the  doorways  of 
the  stable,  he  dug  the  rowels  into  his  stallion  and  was  off 
at  a  bound  that  took  him  nearly  to  the  gate,  Jean  after  him, 
patting  her  horse's  neck  and  talking  to  him  in  all  the  Turk- 
ish she  could  muster.  Outside  the  gate  they  could  see 
Thorley  Prescott  already  far  away.  The  Sheikh  groaned. 
It  was  with  an  uncomplimentary  epithet  that  he  told  Jean 
again  what  he  thought  of  her  for  not  knowing  her  business 
as  a  woman. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  answered.  "Tell  me  quickly,  will  he 
ride  past  where  the  Hadji  is?  Can't  you  stop  him?  If 
we  all  shout  together  he  might  hear." 

She  screamed  then  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  in  a  way  that 
made  her  horse  lay  back  his  ears  and  run.  The  Sheikh 
screamed  too,  and  his  followers  who  were  clattering  along 
behind  gave  tongue  like  a  pack  of  hounds;  but  the  Fiend 
and  his  rider  went  on  as  before. 

"There  is  a  shorter  way  to  the  ford,"  gasped  the  Sheikh, 
whose  breath  came  harder  than  that  of  the  young  men. 
"  It  may  be  that  we  can  get  there  first.  If  so,  that  dog  shall 
die  in  time." 

"How?"  cried  Jean.  With  one  hand  the  Sheikh  loos- 
ened the  dagger  at  his  belt,  grasping  the  hilt  with  a  meaning 
gesture  and  the  fierce  look  that  had  once,  not  so  very  long 
ago,  called  out  an  answer  of  sympathy  from  the  depths  of 


JEAN   IS   READY  321 

Jean  Stuart's  heart.  In  her  imperfect  Turkish  she  cried 
again,  because  only  a  cry  could  be  heard  above  the  noise  of 
the  horses'  hoofs,  - 

"No,  no,  you  must  not.  Take  him  alive;  but  do  not 
kill  him." 

"  These  Inglesi  women,  what  fools  they  are  !"  muttered 
the  Sheikh.  "They  would  rather  their  own  should  die,  than 
be  saved  by  the  destruction  of  such  carrion  as  this  Husain." 

"It  is  not  we  women  only,"  Jean  stumbled  over  the  words, 
but  struggled  bravely  to  make  them  carry  her  meaning. 
"Dan  Lawrence  Saib  would  never  have  wanted  this  man 
to  be  killed.  His  father,  Lawrence  Mirza  would  prevent  you 
at  any  cost  from  injuring  him.  .  .  .  The  Black  Saib  him- 
self would  rather  have  him  brought  to  justice  in  some  other 
way." 

"Justice  !"  sneered  the  Sheikh.     "What  is  that?" 

Jean,  saving  herself  by  a  miracle  from  crashing  into  a 
broken  kariss,  desperately  went  on :  — 

"Capture  him,  bind  him;  take  him  to  your  stronghold. 
.  .  .  There  you  shall  do  with  him  what  you  will.  .  .  .  There 
the  Black  Saib  shall  come  and  help  you  dispose  of  him. 
Only  don't  kill  him  now.  ...  It  is  against  the  religion  of 
the  missionaries  to  kill  men.  .  .  .  They  will  be  angry.  .  .  * 
The  Black  Saib  will  spurn  you.  .  .  .  The  little  doctor  will" 
.  .  .  Jean  had  been  going  to  say  that  the  doctor,  in  her 
anger  over  the  killing  of  the  Hadji,  might  let  the  Chieftess 
die! 

"I'm  a  pretty  Christian,"  she  muttered  to  herself. 

Then,  as  the  Sheikh,  stopping  suddenly  and  motioning 
her  to  dismount,  led  his  horse  over  behind  a  hummock,  she 
followed  him  on  tiptoe,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  thinking 
as  she  went  the  prayer  of  the  woman  who  loves,  "Oh,  God, 
keep  him  safe  for  me." 

The  Sheikh  had  drawn  his  dagger  and  was  already  creep- 
ing to  the  top  of  a  little  hillock.  He  had  motioned  his  fol- 


322  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

lowers  to  stay  behind  with  the  horses;  but  Jean  followed 
him  stealthily,  crawling  as  he  did,  on  hands  and  knees. 
When  he  came  to  the  top  of  the  hillock,  he  peered  over ; 
and  Jean  could  see  as  she  crept  alongside,  that  his  eyes  took 
on  a  deadly  glare  which  she  followed  to  the  spot  below  where 
there  lay,  stomach  on  the  ground,  a  small  man  in  a  green 
turban.  As  Jean's  eyes  fell  on  him,  Hadji  Husain  raised  to 
his  shoulder  a  modern  rifle,  and  sighting  carefully,  began 
to  settle  his  finger  on  the  trigger. 

Jean's  eye  followed  the  direction  of  the  barrel  and  her  heart 
stopped  beating  as  she  saw  just  coming  within  range,  Thor- 
ley  Prescott  on  the  Fiend.  As  she  saw  them,  the  Fiend's 
right  hoof  went  into  that  broken  kariss  hole.  He  fell  in 
up  to  the  knees;  and  Thorley  Prescott,  riding  without 
thought,  rolled  over  his  head  and  lay  on  the  ground. 

Jean  had  just  whispered  "Strike"  when  she  heard  a 
gurgle  and  looking  quickly  down  she  saw  that  the  Sheikh's 
dagger  was  already  buried  to  the  hilt  in  the  left  side  of 
Hadji  Husain's  back. 

"He  is  dead  !"  hissed  the  Sheikh,  and  his  eyes  met  those 
of  Jean  Stuart  with  a  triumph  that  turned  her  sick.  She 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  spoke  rapidly :  — 
•  "If  you  show  yourself  now,  if  you  allow  your  followers 
to  show  themselves,  if  you  breathe  a  word  of  this  to  any  one 
at  the  Mission,  I  will  see  that  the  Governor  of  Muramna 
has  you  shot  from  the  mouth  of  a  cannon,  and  your  body 
exposed  in  the  market  place.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

The  Sheikh  gave  no  sign. 

"Your  sons,  too  —  all  of  them  - 

"No,  no,"  gasped  the  Sheikh,  suddenly  more  unmanned 
than  she  had  been  by  the  sight  of  the  corpse  below 
them. 

"The  missionaries  are  not  to  know  from  you,"  declared 
Jean.  "  I  will  tell  them  myself  when  I  am  ready.  It  must 
be  enough  for  you  that  you  have  killed  your  enemy.  Will 


JEAN    IS    READY  323 

you  agree  ?  "  She  tore  off  her  gold  watch  and  chain,  press- 
ing them  into  his  hands.  "  For  your  wife,"  she  said.  "  She 
shall  have  much  more  than  that ;  and  you  also." 

The  Sheikh,  though  his  eyes  now  gleamed  with  a  different 
light,  gave  her  back  the  watch. 

"It  is  enough,"  he  said.  "You  are  the  Bride  of  the 
Black  Saib.  It  was  you  who  gave  the  alarm.  You  wish 
for  his  gratitude.  To  you  I  give  as  wedding  present,  the 
right  to  tell  when  you  wish." 

As  soon  as  Jean  saw  that  he  had  complied,  she  was  away ; 
for  she  had  been  aware,  as  she  talked  with  the  Sheikh,  that 
Thorley  had  begun  to  stir  as  soon  as  his  body  touched  the 
ground,  that  a  moment  ago  he  had  picked  himself  up,  and 
that  he  was  now  extricating  the  Fiend  from  the  kariss. 
The  Fiend,  too,  was  apparently  unhurt ;  and  Thorley,  look- 
ing very  dusty  but  not  at  all  enraged,  was  almost  ready  to 
mount. 

Jean,  running  down  from  the  hillock,  snatched  at  the 
bridle  of  a  horse,  and  ran  out  toward  Thorley,  calling  to  him 
in  her  naturally  clear  tones,  while  the  Sheikh  hushed  up  his 
followers  and  drew  them  farther  away  behind  the  hummocks, 
motioning  them  to  throw  saddle  cloths  over  the  horses' 
heads. 

Thorley  turned  and,  very  much  astonished,  beheld  Jean 
walking  toward  him.  In  after  years  he  could  never  be 
brought  to  say  that  she  looked,  on  that  occasion,  anything 
but  radiantly  beautiful;  yet  there  must  have  been  some- 
thing queer  about  her  appearance;  for,  with  the  helpless 
astonishment  of  his  regard,  there  was  mingled  already  a 
touch  of  that  lenient  smile  of  amusement  which  he  reserved 
for  her. 

"What  in  thunder,"  he  demanded  cheerfully,  "are  you 
doing  here?" 

"Oh,  Thorley,"  said  Jean,  coming  close  up  to  him,  "I 
knew  you  were  running  into  danger,  and  I"  -  her  eyes  fell 


324  THE   GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP 

before  the  look  that  sprang  into  his ;  but  she  lifted  them  and 
looked  bravely  at  him  —  "I  just  had  to  ride  out  and  be 
sure  that  you  were  safe." 

The  Sheikh  behind  his  hummock,  remarked  to  his  chief 
officer :  — 

"Ah  well,  these  Inglesi!  When  it  comes  to  killing  and 
love,  they  are  very  much  like  us,  after  all.'' 

Now  it  was  not  long  before  Thorley  Prescott,  deeply  in 
love  as  he  was,  bethought  himself  that  the  person  of  Jean 
Stuart  was  by  no  means  safe,  even  in  his  embrace. 
Promptly  as  the  idea  struck  him,  he  lifted  her  on  to  the  back 
of  the  Fiend,  who,  contrary  to  his  former  nature,  had  been 
standing  quite  patiently  all  this  time.  As  he  put  the  reins 
into  her  ungloved  hand,  he  bent  and  kissed  it,  saying  in  a 
tone  which  his  stepmother  would  have  sworn  could  not  be 
his  :  — 

"Do  you  want  a  glove,  darling  ?  I  have  the  one  that  you 
left  at  Kazu  that  day;  but  you  must  promise  to  give  it 
back."  As  he  spoke  his  left  hand  went  into  an  inner  pocket 
whence  he  drew  a  little  tan  riding-glove  marked  "Jouvin." 

Jean's  other  hand  found  its  way  down  one  of  those  swarthy 
cheeks  which  had  been  made  very  smooth  that  morning 
for  her  sake. 

"No, Thorny,"  she  answered,  "I  rode  here  without  gloves " 
-  but  the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost,  for  she  had  never 
called  him  Thorny  except  that  one  other  time. 

And  now  they  agreed  to  hurry  home ;  for  though  Jean 
knew  that  the  Hadji  was  dead,  she  had  no  mind  to  linger 
near  those  hummocks. 

It  was  hard  sometimes,  in  spite  of  the  great  happiness 
that  was  growing  up  in  her,  to  keep  her  thoughts  away 
from  that  still,  little  figure,  crowned  by  a  green  turban ;  so 
she  broke  the  silence  which  had  satisfied  Thorley  because 
now  he  was  justified  in  looking  at  her  again,  as  much  and 


JEAN   IS   READY  325 

in  the  way  he  wished.     But  when  she  spoke,  he  found  him- 
self no  less  content. 

"Whatever  shall  I  do  with  those  Courtlandts ? "  she 
sighed  in  a  dismay  which  she  tried  to  make  comic. 

"I  guess  we  can  head  'em  off,"  laughed  Thorley.  "I 
discovered  only  the  other  day  that  they  haven't  left 
Bushire." 

"What !"  exclaimed  Jean. 

"Your  friend,  Mrs.  Mullins,  seems  to  have  a  little  too 
much  baggage  —  luggage,  I  suppose  she'd  call  it."  He 
threw  back  his  head  and  for  the  first  time  in  many  weeks, 
laughed  heartily.  Jean  drank  in  the  sound  of  it ;  and  as  it 
continued,  in  spite  of  all  her  burdens,  she  could  not  help 
joining. 

"Oh,  Thorley,"  she  cried,  "when  I  think  of  Bertha  Mul- 
lins, if  she  ever  hears  that  I'm  going  to  be  a  missionary  !" 

Prescott  regarded  her  with  an  expression  that  made  his 
strong  face  as  nearly  foolish  as  it  could  ever  be.  Then  he 
was  taken  with  a  humorous  idea. 

"By  Jove,"  he  slapped  his  knee,  "but  what  will  Mrs. 
Prescott  say?" 

Jean  shook  her  head  with  an  expression  of  mock  serious- 
ness, that  lost  its  mockery  all  too  soon. 

"She'll  say  I'm  not  worthy ;  and  she'll  be  right." 

"Not  worthy!"  roared  Thorley,  slapping  his  knee  with 
an  energy  that  made  the  Kurdish  horse,  tired  and  lame  as 
he  was,  stand  on  his  hind  legs.     "Not  worthy,  well,  by  - 
Thunder  !    If  you're  not  worthy,  who  is  ?" 

Jean  humbly  shook  her  head,  while  Thorley  leaning 
toward  her,  went  on,  "What  do  we  care  what  any  old  Mrs. 
Prescott  says?  We  know  what  Mrs.  Thorny  Prescott 
will  do!" 

His  eyes  rested  proudly  and  lovingly  on  Jean  Stuart, 
as  with  joyful  awe,  she  responded,  — 

"Inshallah." 


T 


HE  following  pages  contain  advertise- 
ments of  a  few  of  the  Macmillan  novels 


NEW   MACMILLAN    FICTION    BY   LEADING  AUTHORS 


Julia  France  and  Her  Times 

By  GERTRUDE  ATHERTON,  author  of  "Tower  of  Ivory."  "The  Con- 
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the  story  is  an  American,  a  San  Franciscan  of  the  most  modern  type;  the  heroine 
is  a  study  of  all  that  civilization  has  done  for  woman  up  to  date. 

The  Giant  Fisher 

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Hieronymus  Rides 

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island,  and  others  of  the  Hawaiian  group  afford  splendid  settings  for  the  tales. 

The  Rich  Mrs.  Burgoyne 

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Joseph  in  Jeopardy 

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workmanship  and  unflagging  interest  and,  in  the  second  place,  on  account  of  its 
unmistakable  purpose." 

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The  Friar  of  Wittenberg 


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Wills  It." 

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In  the  character  of  Martin  Luther,  William  Stearns  Davis  has  found  admirable 
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tance. He  has  succeeded  above  all  else  in  making  this  picturesque  figure  live,  im- 
parting to  the  stirring  episodes  in  which  he  played  a  part  so  much  of  reality  that 
the  reader  is  enabled  to  visualize  as  never  before  the  conditions  leading  to  the  re- 
ligious revolt  of  which  the  Friar  of  Wittenberg  was  so  powerful  a  leader. 


Van  Cleve 


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"  The  Legacy,"  two  novels  which  met  with  such  wide  favor.  The  hero,  Van  Cleve, 
is  a  young  man  who  finds  himself  obliged,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  to  support  a  family 
of  foolish,  good-hearted,  ill-balanced  women,  and  one  shiftless,  pompous  old  man 
—  his  grandfather,  aunt,  cousin,  and  uncle.  Out  of  this  situation  the  story  grows 
which  will  be  welcome  to  the  many  admirers  of  Mrs.  Watts. 


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throughout  a  profound  study  of  a  fascinating  young  American  woman.  It 
is  frankly  a  modern  love  story. 

"  The  most  thorough  and  artistic  work  the  author  has  yet  turned  out  A  very 
interesting  story  and  a  faithful  picture  of  character  .  .  .  one  that  will  give  rise 
to  much  discussion." — New  York  Sun, 

Mr.  Crewe's  Career  illustrated 

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a  type  of  woman  as  fresh,  original,  and  captivating  as  any  that  has  appeared 
in  American  novels  for  a  long  time  past."  —  The  Outlook. 

The  Celebrity     An  Episode 

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Richard  Carvel  illustrated 

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—  Chicago  Tribune. 

The   Crossing  Illustrated 

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mental incident,  yet  faithful  to  historical  fact  both  in  detail  and  in  spirit" 

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The    Crisis  Illustrated 

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bitterness,  the  intense  patriotism  of  both  parties,  are  shown  understandingly." 

—  Evening  Telegraph,  Philadelphia. 

Coniston  Illustrated 

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ever  achieved 'before.  .  .  .  One  of  the  truest  and  finest  transcripts  of  modern 
American  life  thus  far  achieved  in  our  fiction."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


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JACK   LONDON'S   SHORT   STORIES 

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The  Game 

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vigor,  with  such  effective  audacity  of  phrase,  that  it  almost  seems  as  if  the 
author's  appeal  was  to  the  bodily  eye  as  much  as  to  the  inner  mentality,  and 
that  the  events  are  actually  happening  before  the  reader."  —  The  New  F<?/v& 
Herald. 

Children  of  the  Frost 

"Told  with  something  of  that  same  vigorous  and  honest  manliness  and  in- 
difference with  which  Mr.  Kipling  makes  unbegging  yet  direct  and  unfailing 
appeal  to  the  sympathy  of  his  reader." —  Richmond  Despatch. 

The  Faith  of  Men 

"  Mr.  London's  art  as  a  story-teller  nowhere  manifests  itself  more  strongly  than 
in  the  swift,  dramatic  close  of  his  stories.  There  is  no  hesitancy  or  uncertainty 
of  touch.  From  the  start  the  story  moves  straight  to  the  inevitable  conclusion." 
—  Courier  Journal. 


Moon  Face 

"  Each  of  the  stories  is  unique  in  its  individual  way,  weird  and  uncanny,  and 
told  in  Mr.  London's  vigorous,  compelling  style."  —  Interior. 

Tales  of  the  Fish  Patrol 

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as  well  as  a  writer  of  thrilling  romances."  —  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

Love  of  Life 

"Jack  London  is  at  his  best  with  the  short  story  .  .  .  clear-cut,  sharp,  incisive, 
with  the  tang  of  the  frost  in  it."  —  Record-Herald,  Chicago. 


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would  prove  that  he  had  been  on  the  ground  and  had  himself  taken  part  in  the 
combats,  physical  and  mental,  which  he  describes.  The  present  volume  is  a 
collection  of  vivid  tales,  which,  both  in  their  subject  matter  and  in  their  setting, 
give  the  author  free  hand. 

The  Cruise  of  the  Snark 

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to  sail  around  the  world.  Mr.  London  has  told  the  story  in  a  fashion  to  bring 
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ments and  days  of  breathless  danger. 

Adventure 

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thing doing  from  first  to  last,  the  reader  is  not  conscious  of  that  straining  after 
effect  which  is  evident  in  so  many  stories  of  rapid  and  exciting  plot. 


When  God  Laughs 


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time.  To  depict  graphically  "  the  struggles  of  strong  men  in  a  world  of  strong 
men,"  a  reviewer  once  declared  to  be  Mr.  London's  special  province.  Certainly 
it  is  the  province  which  he  has  selected  for  himself  in  this  book.  "  When  God 
Laughs,"  the  initial  tale,  deals  with  a  novel  conception  of  the  love  of  man  and 
wife.  What  this  love  is,  and  what  it  brings  to  pass,  make  a  yarn  which  is  as 
finished  and  complete  a  piece  of  work  as  one  often  finds  in  the  much  discussed 
short-story  field. 


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the  career  of  a  country  doctor  who  has  lost  faith  in  life  but  not  in  ideals.  Inci- 
dentally the  author  has  interpreted  the  new  spirit  of  American  childhood  in  its 
relation  to  the  miracles  and  legends  and  lore  of  other  lands  and  older  times, 
which  have  through  the  centuries  gathered  about  the  great  Christmas  festival 
of  the  Nativity."  —  New  York  Times. 

"  What  so  many  have  so  long  hoped  Mr.  Allen  would  do  he  has  accomplished 
in  this  work,  namely,  a  description  of  Kentucky  and  the  blue-grass  farms  as 
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work,  will  earn  a  high  place  in  fiction.  It  is  good  and  clean  and  provides  a 
vacation  from  the  cares  of  the  hour.  It  resembles  a  Chinese  play,  because  it 
begins  with  the  hero's  boyhood,  describes  his  long,  busy  life,  and  ends  with  his 
death.  Its  tone  is  often  religious,  never  flippant,  and  one  of  its  best  assets  is 
its  glowing  descriptions  of  the  calm,  serene  beauties  of  nature.  Its  moral  is 
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The  Little  King 


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of  fiction  for  'grown-ups,'  that  have  won  him  such  unprecedented  fame  as  a 
novelist,  as  can  well  be  imagined. 

"  That  '  The  Little  King '  will  greatly  increase  his  popularity  with  young  peo- 
ple, already  well  established  by  his  '  Bears  of  Blue  River '  and  '  Uncle  Tom 
Andy  Bill,'  there  can  be  no  doubt.  The  fact  that  those  were  stories  of  Indians 
and  pioneers,  while  this  is  of  France  and  historic  happenings,  will  but  widen 
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—  Nation. 

A  Gentle  Knight  of  Old  Brandenburg 

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elists have  been  singularly  blind.  The  boyhood  of  Frederick  the  Great,  and 
the  strange  wooing  of  his  charming  sister  Wilhelmina,  have  afforded  a  theme 
rich  in  its  revelation  of  human  nature  and  full  of  romantic  situations. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  best  books  of  the  season.  A  bright  light  is  thrown  upon 
the  queer  and  quaint  court  of  King  Frederick  William  of  Prussia,  and  many 
imposing  or  otherwise  interesting  personages  bow  their  way  in  these  attractive 
pages  with  a  courtly  grace  and  charm  that  is  truly  of  the  olden  time.  A  very 
enjoyable  book."  —  New  York  Observer. 

Dorothy  Vernon  of  Haddon  Hall 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  HOWARD  CHANDLER  CHRISTY 

"  Dorothy  is  a  splendid  creation,  a  superb  creature  of  brains,  beauty,  force,  ca- 
pacity, and  passion,  a  riot  of  energy,  love,  and  red  blood.  She  is  the  fairest, 
fiercest,  strongest,  tenderest  heroine  that  ever  woke  up  a  jaded  novel  reader 
and  made  him  realize  that  life  will  be  worth  living  so  long  as  the  writers  of  fic- 
tion create  her  like.  .  .  .  The  story  has  brains,  'go,'  virility,  gumption,  and 
originality."  —  The  Boston  Herald. 

" '  Dorothy  Vernon '  is  refreshing  not  only  on  account  of  its  fascinating  whirl- 
wind of  a  heroine,  but  also  because  it  is  built  on  rather  unusual  lines.  ...  A 
story  with  no  halting  in  the  action,  an  abundance  of  variety;  a  swift,  brief, 
engaging  tale." —  The  Boston  Herald. 


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